USUK Drabble Calendar: April 2014
by 365daysofUSUK
Summary: A drabble a day keeps you in USUK! The file for the USUK Drabble Calendar, the month of April in the year of 2014.
1. April 1st, 2014

April 1st, 2014 - April Fools

**AUTHOR: **LaCie

**April 1st, 2014 - April Fools**

"Oi! Alfred! I got you those bloody Oreos you depend on so much from the store! Get your arse down here before I change my mind and take them back!" a loud thud came from upstairs from someone falling off of their bed in a hurry making Arthur Kirkland smile softly. "git" he mumbled the term affectionately as his boyfriend appeared from around the corner with a huge smile on his face, his eyes twinkling in excitement.

"OREOS! OH MY GOD ARTIE YOU'RE THE BEST!" Arthur simply sighed and held out the packaged goods as his boyfriend took the package from him.

"Oh by the way I opened it to eat a few I hope that's okay love.."

Alfred looked up as he began to peel the plastic "lid" off the package with a puzzled look on his face. "I thought you don't like American food?"

Arthur blushed 'bloody hell at this rate he'll figure it out' "I-I uh figured I would try a few after all one can never not widen their horizons" Alfred started at his blushing boyfriend for a few moments before shrugging and pulling out five Oreos. Arthur was staring at Alfred intensely as if waiting for something but the American was too excited to notice. Alfred happily munched on the Oreos until freezing in shock. Arthur's posture straightened as he noticed Alfred's expression change, before he burst out laughing as Alfred began to scream and spit the Oreos out.

"Oh my- Hahahaha- oh bloo- hahahaaaahhh Oh you should see your face bloody git! Oh god this is bloody fantastic! Happy April fools you git!" Arthur was bent over holding his stomach as tears poured down his face as he laughed. He had known Alfred wouldn't be awake when he'd get home so he'd bought the Oreos with good intent until he realized it was April fools and decided to switch the filling of those godamn things with toothpaste. Arthur had spent an hour replacing the filling in all of them because he knew Alfred would choose a random cookie in his excitement.

Alfred spit out the cookies into his hand and wiped his mouth off which only put the cookies back into his mouth as his boyfriend had his little laugh. "oh my god what the hell did you do to them Arthur?! What did you do to my babiesssss?!"

Arthur straightened his back and wiped a few more tears from his eyes "I just replaced the filling with toothpaste….in every single bloody one of them! Ahahahaaaa" Alfred's face had change to one of sheer horror after hearing how his boyfriend had mauled his precious ones. "oh my god Arthur how could you?!" Arthur shrugged in response to his boyfriends distress "firstly it's April Fools day, second they're just cookies Alfred you'll get over it love….even more so because I bought you an untampered box of them…" He reached into the grocery bag and pulled out an un-opened bag of Oreos.

Alfred eyed them warily, "hell no I don't know what the hell you've done to those" Arthur sighed in irritation, "I did nothing to these ones Alfred for god's sake just take the bloody Oreos!". "No way dude! I dun know if you like somehow magically switched them again!" Alfred pouted and crossed his arms showing he wouldn't take the Oreos from Arthur. Arthur growled in frustration before setting the box down on the table and walking over to the kitchen "Fine! If you're going to be this bloody ridiculous over godamn Oreos then don't eat them. I'm making tea". Alfred sighed as his temperamental boyfriend began to fill the tea kettle with water and slam it onto the stove setting it on high and adding the tea leaves to it.

However some part of Alfred wanted Arthur to finish that tea quickly mainly because last night he (knowing Arthur has a sweet tooth) switched the salt and the sugar as a prank for April Fools day. What he hadn't expected was Arthur to get him first, actually he didn't expect Arthur to get him at all…. Huh… a sharp whistle filled the air as the tea was finished and Alfred watched with anticipation as Arthur made his tea. He watched him pour it in his cup and reach for the "sugar" causing Alfred's smile to widen, even more so when Arthur poured in a ungodly amount of sugar. 'oh this is gonna be gooodddddd' Alfred thought with a smile as he watched his British boyfriend take a sip of the tea.

As expected Arthur spat out the tea and began to wipe at his mouth furiously "w-what the bloody hell?! Alfred did you do this?!" it was Alfred's turn to burst out laughing "OH MY GAWD ARTIE! AHAHAA, I knew you would pour a crap ton of "sugar" in your tea so I switched it with salt! APRIL FOOLS RIGHT BACK AT YA ARTIE!" Alfred shouted and fist pumped the air in triumph. Arthur just gaped at him before throwing his tea at him drenching the American who stopped cheering and yelped. "o-ow! Hot hot hot! God Artie! Calm it down dude!" Arthur simply covered his mouth with his hand to stop laughing at Alfred who was hopping around before stepping up to his boyfriend. "sorry love I lost it for a bit… bloody hell you got me well Alfred… git" Alfred smiled at Arthur before pulling him into a soft kiss.

"Yeah, you got me pretty well to Artie…Happy April Fools day?" Arthur smiled into the kiss slightly.

"Happy April Fools Alfred"


	2. April 2nd, 2014

April 2nd, 2014

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**April 2nd, 2014**

Vice Principal Beilschmidt stood over the two boys menacingly, his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

"So let me get this straight," he growled, his thick German accent not helping him to sound any less intimidating. "You mean to tell me that you, Alfred Jones, spray painted '_Mischief managed. Gallifrey lives_' on the atrium wall?"

Alfred shrugged. "That's what I said."

Mr. Beilschmidt glanced, unimpressed, at Principal Vargas, who just smiled like a dope and shrugged in return. "If he admitted to it…" he began, but was quickly interrupted by Mr. Beilschmidt's stoney glare.

"I don't buy it," he growled, whipping around to once again face the students. "Tell me, Mr. Jones, what it was that possessed you to commit such a crime."

"I was dared to do it."

"By who?"

"The guys on the team."

Mr. Beilschmidt raised an eyebrow. "The _football team_ dared you spray paint '_Mischief managed. Gallifrey lives_' on the atrium wall?"

Alfred grinned. "Sure did."

"And _why_," he asked, now pacing lethargically back and forth across the room, "would the football team dare you to graffiti something so obviously _Kirkland_, on the wall?"

At the first mention of his name, Arthur, sitting silently next to Alfred, motionless, wiggled a little bit in his seat and fiddled self consciously with one of the studs above his thick eyebrow.

Alfred gave the wiggle the tiniest of glances and leaned forward challengingly, narrowing his eyes. "Maybe, _Sir,_ because this school's got a major bullying problem that you're doing n_othing_ about."

This, got Beilschmidt's attention. "Excuse me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Alfred asked, relaxing back in his chair. "The guys ask me to do it, knowing that Arthur was gonna get blamed, and what is Arthur supposed to do? He takes the blame, he gets unfairly punished. He rats 'em out, they come back with something _worse_ later to get him in even _bigger_ trouble!" He shook his head, _tsking_ the whole situation. "He loses either way.

"_That_, is why I stepped in and confessed." He crossed his arms across his chest, staring challengingly into Beilschmidt's eyes. "_You_ certainly weren't gonna look into it when you could just blame Arthur. _Someone_ in this school has to be a hero," he spat.

After a mild punishment of a week's worth of detention, and a sincere promise to talk to the students responsible for the bullying from Mr. Vargas, they sent Alfred on his way, followed closely behind by Arthur, whom he had still yet to look at directly.

It took until they were out the door, down the stairs, and almost to the sidewalk (at comfortable, we-are-definitely-not-touching-each-other distance, of course), before Arthur, looking disturbingly unlike his normal, prickly self, cleared his throat and got Alfred's attention.

"I-I just wanted to thank you properly," he mumbled, hiding his eyes behind his green-streaked fringe. "I know we're not exactly friendly anymore, but you didn't need to—"

"Of course I did, dude," Alfred interrupted with a chuckle. "There's no way they would've let you graduate after a stunt like that."

Arthur's nose scrunched up in distaste. "Yes, but-"

"No buts," Alfred said with a smile. "Just no more graffiti until graduation, okay? I can only take the blame so many times before they catch on."

Arthur blushed lightly, turning his nose up and puffing out his cheeks. "What do you take me for, Jones, an amateur? I'll just write something in French, and get Francis in trouble next time."

They laughed together, for the first time in four years, feeling like the old friends they used to be, and would grow to be again in the future.


	3. April 3rd, 2014

April 3rd, 2014 - Shopping Day

**AUTHOR: darkyfoot**

**April 3rd, 2014 - Shopping Day**

"Alright, we need eggs, tea, coffee, chicken, carrots, beef, bread and milk." England read off his list as he and America entered the store. "Be a dear and grab a shopping cart please Am-err, Alfred."

"Sure thing Iggy~" America grinned brightly at him before dashing off to go fetch the requested item.

"We're in public, remember?" England berated him when he got back, smacking his arm lightly. "You need to call me Arthur. Not Iggy. And I'd prefer it if you didn't call me that in the first place." America rolled his eyes exasperatedly.

"Fine, fine, whatever Artie." He huffed, putting particular emphasis on his partner's human name. "I still don't see the point with these codenames. Why can't we just go by our normal names? It'd be cool for everyone to know that they're actually talking to America the country!"

"Lower your voice!" England hissed, smacking his arm again. "We can't just go around announcing that we are the personifications of England and America, they'd lock us up in the loony bin for sure!"

"You're boring." America pouted, crossing his arms. "I bet if I asked, my boss would let me tell everyone."

"If he had any common sense, he wouldn't." England retaliated. "But let's drop the subject for now, Alfred, we have shopping to do."

"Fine." America grumbled, grabbing the cart and looking back at England for some sort of direction.

"You get the milk and I'll grab the eggs and meet you over there." England decided, gesturing towards the dairy isle. "And just get the milk. No ice cream this time."

"Meanie." America pouted, pushing the cart over to where the milk was kept. England rolled his eyes and turned around to retrieve the eggs.

"Put it back." America froze in place, the chocolate bar he had been intending to sneak in with the groceries slipping through his fingers and landing back in the box where he had gotten it. He glanced over his shoulder and his eyes widened with surprise when he saw England's back was still turned to him as the older nation examined the different brands of tea on display.

"How did you know?" America spun around completely, putting his hands on his hips as he frowned in confusion. England allowed a smirk to grace his features where he knew America wouldn't see it.

"Magic~"

"Can we get ice-cream?"

"No."

"Can we get cupcakes?"

"No."

"Can we get bacon?"

"No."

"Can we get-"

"For heaven's sake Alfred! The answer is no!" England snapped, turning around to glare at the younger nation. America gave him a disgruntled pout.

"Not cool hater, I was gonna ask if we could get some cheese cause we're almost out."

"Do we need bread?" America asked, pausing next to the isle that had the bread there. England rolled his eyes.

"Did you not listen when I read you the list?" He asked, a hint of irritation in his tone. America shrugged.

"Sometimes I just listen to your accent and not the stuff you say." He explained with a grin. England glared and smacked the younger nation over the back of his head.

"You idiot. Yes we need bread." He growled. America whined and rubbed his head.

"You hit hard Artie."

"Don't call me Artie!"

Can I get some chocolate please?" America whined, gazing longingly to the chocolate bars all lined up temptingly in front of him. England paused in his unloading of the cart to give his young boyfriend a tired glare.

"No. You're already getting chocolate milk so you can go without." He said dryly. "Now pass me my wallet please." America stared blankly at him for a moment.

"What wallet?" He asked. England gave an exaggerated groan.

"The wallet I told you to grab before we left." He explained but was met with another blank look at quickly morphed into one of guilt. "…You forgot my wallet didn't you?"

"I didn't mean to!" America quickly defended himself. "Your accent distracted me!" England gave him a full blown glare.

"Well how do you expect me to pay without my wallet?" He snapped. There was a polite cough from beside him and they both turned to look at the cashier.

"Are you going to pay or not?" She asked dryly, pushing her glasses up with one finger. "Because if you don't pay I'm going to have to ask you to leave." She added with a forced smile.

"We're very sorry for wasting your time." England apologised, his smile equally forced. "We'll be going now." He grabbed America's arm and started to drag him away, growling under his breath and nearly missing the cashier's muttered insult.

"Peasants."


	4. April 4th, 2014

April 4th, 2014

**ARTIST: **gelatokitty

**AUTHOR:** black-rose-authoress

**April 4th, 2014**

It was stupidly simple to sneak his way inside the palace. The guards were distracted this evening by carriages filled with bejeweled royalty, their roles checking invitations and watching the guests' servants with eyes like hawks. It had taken very little effort to climb up the garden wall, just as he had hundreds of times as a child, and drop down into the bushes where his brother, Mattie, had dumped his clothes for tonight.

Alfred would have kept his brother in the dark about tonight, but he needed someone on the inside and Mattie had been working in the royal kitchens for years now. He'd been worried and panicky when Alfred had told him about his plan. He'd paced the tiny room that served as their home and told him that he'd be imprisoned—possibly even executed—if he were caught sneaking into the king's private masquerade. Was he seriously willing to risk his life?

That question nestled in the back of his mind as he strolled down the hallway, dressed in stolen finery. He'd felt terrible throughout the theft, but it had been a necessary dishonesty, and now he blended in seamlessly with the masked nobility.

There was music mixed with laughter and chatter, drifting through the hallways from the ballroom that he knew was ahead. His heart pounded, a mixture of excitement and nervousness. And a slight fear that he _would _be caught.

But it was worth the risk. He breathed in deeply and then reached up once more to check that his mask covered his face before he stepped inside the crowded room.

Extravagantly-costumed figures, each with a face covered by an exorbitant mask, whipped by in a never-ending dance. He caught a few eyes and flashed their owners his friendliest smiles, but he moved by without exchanging pleasantries. He was here for one reason and one reason alone.

And there he was. His majesty, leaning against a wall with one of his arms resting against his stomach; the other held an almost empty wine glass, which he lifted to his lips and now drained. His face was hidden behind a green, beautifully-decorated mask, but Alfred would have known him from miles away. Alfred also knew that their king was probably scowling to himself, as cranky and anti-social as ever.

The guards, each masked but more heavily-armed than any actual reveler, watched as he approached their ruler but made no move to stop him. The king himself straightened from his slouch against the wall and motioned with a finger for a servant to take his empty glass.

Alfred stopped a few feet away and lowered himself into a deep, reverent bow. "Your majesty." He half-expected somebody's sword to come down across the back of his neck; he was incredibly relieved when it didn't. "I wondered if we might share a dance tonight, your highness."

Mattie was probably right that he was an idiot to do this, but this was his only chance now to speak with and touch the man that he'd loved for years… He'd fallen for him when they were still children, back when Alfred would climb over the palace's garden wall to play with the young prince after he snuck away from his nanny and tutors. Before his father had died unexpectedly and he'd suddenly been thrust into a king's role. Back when Alfred knew him simply as _Arthur_, instead of _your highness._

He was actually rather surprised when he heard a sound like a snort from the king and then, "Fine."

And that was all the answer Alfred needed. He jerked up straight and then moved forward and grasped Arthur's hand, yanking him away from the wall and toward where other couples were dancing. Arthur made a rather surprised yelp-like noise at the manhandling, but followed.

Some of the other pairs sent them rather amazed looks, but no one dared comment. Even if it was practically unheard of for the king to dance in public, especially with a stranger.

Alfred couldn't stop his lips from stretching in a maniac's happy grin as he stopped and turned toward Arthur, who settled a hand on his hip and began move them in time with the music.

He stared past the mask, into the familiar green eyes from his childhood. They were more tired, but still held that fierce stubbornness and intelligence that had always been defining aspects of Arthur's personality.

They danced for a long while without words, through a full song and half of another, before Arthur finally asked, "I know you from somewhere."

Alfred wasn't sure how to respond, whether it would be smarter to reveal his identity or pretend to be someone else for the night, so he just smiled at the other.

Who scowled in response before poking at Alfred's mask. "I hate these bloody things. They look idiotic."

"I like yours." Alfred squeezed Arthur's hand and was overjoyed when his cheeks flushed slightly and then he felt an answering pressure. "So, are you enjoying your party?"

Arthur snorted. "Hardly. It was my bloody advisors' idea." He continued to stare at him, eyes narrowing slightly. "I'm sure I know you from somewhere."

It wasn't surprising that he was confused. Alfred had shot up and gained plenty of muscle since he'd last seen Arthur.

They continued to dance and Alfred watched delightedly as the tension slowly left Arthur's face. And there was nothing that he wanted to do more than stay there, dancing with the other all night, but people were staring and whispering… So he took a step backwards and bowed again. "I shouldn't steal you away from your subjects, your highness." And then, softer so that only Arthur could here, "Little Artie."

He saw the recognition dawn in Arthur's eyes and his mouth form the word, "Alfred," before he turned and gracefully made his way through the watching crowd.

And while he sharply felt the disappointment of leaving, he had already vowed that he would return and see the man he loved again. So he smiled as he walked away.


	5. April 5th, 2014

Aprin 5th, 2014 - The Best Sort of Exercise

**AUTHOR: **Anonymous

**April 5th, 2014 - The Best Sort of Exercise**

If someone had sent in a screenplay about falling in love with a personal trainer, Arthur would have rejected it as too clichéd. Yet, here he was, trying to pick out the perfect workout clothes for his next session at the gym.

"What do you think, Pixie, the shorts or the jogging bottoms?" Arthur asked his Maine Coon as he examined the options in the mirror.

"_Mraaoww_." The cat butted her head against Arthur's legs.

"Shorts it is," Arthur said, because yes, he was a single man who talked to his cat. He pulled on a green t-shirt that matched his eyes, grabbed his keys, and eagerly battled L.A. traffic, daydreaming about his trainer the whole way.

His trainer had muscle and tone; he had tanned skin and a perfect smile. He brimmed with so much boyish enthusiasm that he easily filled in the gaps in the conversation when Arthur was at a loss for words. Despite his addiction to fitness, he loved hamburgers and fast food. He had little interest in international affairs, but he never stopped asking Arthur about "British stuff" and if it was really safe for him to be driving in America.

As always, Arthur felt his heart flutter when he spotted Alfred waiting for him behind the front desk with a cheerful grin. "Hey, Arthur! How was traffic?"

Arthur smiled back. "Dreadful as always, and still on the wrong side."

They laughed together as they walked to the yoga studio, a nice room with a wooden floor and mirrors on all four sides. Alfred wanted to work on exercises and stretches that Arthur could perform at his desk during the day. He demonstrated each move with his usual athleticism while Arthur watched _very_ carefully.

When it was Arthur's turn, he strove to duplicate the lunge and then tried not to blush as Alfred corrected his stance with gentle touches.

"There, that's good! Keep your core tight," Alfred said encouragingly. He glanced up at Arthur's red face and paused. "Need a water break?"

Arthur nodded, since it was better than admitting the _real_ reason for his flushed cheeks. At least when he was working out, he could pretend it was just exertion. As he bent over to grab his water bottle, he happened to glance in the mirror and nearly dropped the bottle on the floor as he noticed Alfred staring at his butt. But when he returned the bottle to the floor, bending over a _few_ seconds longer than necessary, Alfred had already looked away. Arthur sighed, brushing off the glance as a fluke.

At the end of the session, Alfred encouraged Arthur to keep up the exercises at the office and throughout the week. "The best sort of exercise is the kind you can do every day," he said, eagerly encouraging Arthur to think of ways to keep active.

"Perhaps I should try acting out the screenplays. Some of them have an awful lot of action scenes."

Alfred laughed. "I'd send in _my_ ideas for movies set in gyms with handsome guys like me, but I think you probably do classier stuff than that."

"You'd be surprised." Arthur filed away _that_ comment for future reference. Ever since he had taken a fancy to his personal trainer, he had spent a lot of time reading the tea leaves into Alfred's sexuality. He'd even drawn up a chart. The results were inconclusive. Alfred _might_ be gay, or he might just be narcissistic.

"You could always get a dog," Alfred suggested.

"I doubt my cat would like that."

"Well, just keep thinking about it!"

They parted ways at the front desk. "See you next week," Arthur promised.

And so it went for the next few weeks. Arthur snuck glances and daydreamed after every session. He felt more energetic than usual, which _might_ have been a result of the exercise, but was probably just a side effect of his ridiculous infatuation.

It was all going splendidly until he received a voicemail informing him that Alfred was "no longer available for personal training," and asking if Arthur "would be interested in scheduling the same time with someone else."

Arthur called the gym. "No, I am _not_ interested in a different personal trainer. What happened to Mr. Jones? Is he all right? Has he left your gym?" He couldn't imagine that the gym would have _fired_ Alfred. He seemed to be popular with all of the members. He peppered questions and demanded answers.

The receptionist on the other end of the line was no match for an angry Arthur Kirkland. She eventually gave up and transferred the call to Alfred.

"Uh, hey Arthur," Alfred said, sounding completely unlike his chipper self.

"What's the meaning of all this? Is it a problem with the time? I can change the time."

"No, it's not. It's uh, you know, management and hours… and stuff."

Arthur frowned. "I see. Are you uncomfortable because I'm gay?"

"No! Wait, you _are_?" His tone sounded almost hopeful.

Arthur thought of his little chart and wagered a guess. "Does this have to do with the fact that you were staring at my arse?"

Alfred gasped. "You _saw_ that?"

"Of course I did. I spent the whole time staring at _you_."

"Wait… really?" Alfred sounded pleased. Apparently he was gay _and_ narcissistic.

Arthur felt giddy with relief as the pieces fit into place. Alfred didn't hate him. Alfred had tried to cancel because he _liked_ Arthur too much!

"You know," Arthur said, clearing his throat, "I was thinking about the best sort of exercises, and I have to say, I really like long walks on the beach and going dancing at gay bars. I don't suppose you'd be interested in joining me?"

"I get off at seven."


	6. April 6th, 2014

April 6th, 2014 - Mirror Mirror

**AUTHOR:** animexalchemist

**April 6th, 2014 - Mirror Mirror**

England has an attic in his house. It was his storage room.

In his attic were the most intriguing items. Some were highly sought after by museums and collectors, but held too much sentimental value for the Brit to want to part with them. A multitude of weapons from eras long past adorned the walls, odd little toys he had once owned were in boxes, suits of armour lay here and there, old maps scattered about. The place was a mess, but England knew where everything was. It was organised chaos.

However, there is one item in the attic that England knows very little about. In his attic is a mirror. It is a grand thing, full-length that stands on its own. The outer rim of the mirror is silver infused with other metals, and ornate designs have been carved into it. The mirror is beautifully crafted, but England has no idea who crafted it, or where it even comes from. This mirror had been gained while he was sailing the seas back in his privateering days. The thirst for adventure, the lust for treasure, both had combined and led him to the discovery of this mirror in a cave that was completely deserted.

He had no intention to take the mirror at first, for making sure the thing didn't shatter while aboard his ship seemed a needless hassle, but he had quickly changed his mind when he looked into it. Instead of his smirking face being reflected, there was a genuine smile staring back at him. His grand clothes of the richest materials and golden trim were also different- just as grand, but a completely different colour scheme. It had been odd, and England rather liked odd, so he claimed the mirror.

He kept the mirror in his attic and there it stayed. Occasionally, Arthur would visit the mirror. For you see, he was sure that what the mirror displayed was sort of like… an alternate self. He would bring up some of his (burnt) scones and stand holding them in front of the mirror, only to have a grinning man with a tray full of voluptuous cupcakes staring back at him. The man seemed so happy…

England wasn't happy. He was actually rather sad. He was a man that was suffering under unrequited love, and as much as he loved Tennyson he never could take the words, _"__'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,"_ seriously. Because love _hurt_. It hurt so bloody much, but he knew there was nothing he could do about it.

He really didn't know _when_ he had started to fall for America, or _how_ he even let it happen. But he knew _why_. America was just so vibrant. His blue eyes were simultaneously the sky and the sea, promising endless possibilities. He had grown up to be truly stunning and he held the kindest heart. But it was a heart that would never be his. America didn't see him that way. Any hints England had attempted to drop had been ignored, and while that could easily be chalked up to the boy's inability to read the atmosphere, it had been proven in a variety of other ways.

Take America's storage room: why couldn't England go in there? Did America, his closest ally, not trust him enough? Why would America run away from him during any Christmas parties as soon as mistletoe was jokily dangled above them by France? Why would he be constantly insulted by his friend, his unrequited love, if there were any deeper feelings there? Yes, England insulted back, but it was defensive insulting… and now he sounded childish.

He wanted America so much that his heart yearned, ached. He would have been more forward and literally spelt it out for America, but he knew that his feelings weren't returned so why jeopardise their friendship over it?

England stood in front of the mirror, gazing at this happy variant of himself, who had apparently taken a liking to dying his hair pink. But regardless of the gaudy colour, he was smiling. He looked happy. England came to the conclusion that, if there was an alternate him in the mirror, then there must also be an alternate America. Were these alternate selves… together? Were they lovers? Were they happy? They must be, because his other self was the very personification of joy.

Oh what he would give to switch places with his happy self, to go and live in the mirror, to be close to America, to be intimate… He carefully reached out a hand towards the glass, as if he could step right through into this perfect world where he and America were together and he was so, so happy, unendingly, sickeningly happy.

He never expected to actually fall through, to be swallowed up and tossed out by the mirror and end up in an attic that wasn't his, a house that looked so similar but also extremely different. And he _definitely_ never expected to have his front door kicked down by a man with a baseball bat, ruby red eyes, chocolate brown hair with a cowlick-

"America?" Oh god, what happened to his perfect world, what was…?

"Hey doll face," the man grinned, stalking up to him, eyes appraising. "Got rid of the dye?" he ran his fingers through England's blonde locks and smirked, "I always did love my guys natural. And nice emerald contacts." He brandished the bat threateningly, "So, you finally gonna let me do you today, or is this gonna be another brawl?" The man's eyes glittered, as if either prospect excited him, and it was then that England spotted the occasional strategically placed knife and he realised that this was far from a perfect world.

But… it seemed it was a world where America _wanted_ him. And as his hand enclosed around a knife, playing along, he thought that maybe he'd like it here. That it _was_ perfect after all.


	7. April 7th, 2014

April 7th, 2014

**ARTIST: **Em

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**April 7th, 2014**

In the days of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, there was another Arthur, born to the Kirkland family. Like his three older brothers, Arthur was a knight, and even though it should have been the place of the eldest brother to serve under the king, it was clear to anyone who met the four Kirklands that Arthur was the most worthy. The others were bold and strong, but it was Arthur who was the most chivalrous and kind, who would take on the most impossible of quests in the name of justice, who would save the damsels in distress and ask nothing in return.

The problem was that Arthur was friends with the faerie folk.

He'd been able to see strange things ever since he was a baby, and as he grew older he would wander off into the woods around their castle and come back with tales of magical friends. He claimed to know a witch who would supply him with healing draughts, and had actually protected a dragon when one of his older brothers tried to kill it. And even though the king, himself, had a sorcerer for an advisor and owned a magical sword, it was a different matter entirely for Sir Arthur Kirkland to be friends with witches and dragons and other dark creatures. No matter how pure and selfless he might be, with dark allies like that he was bound to remain an outcast from the other knights of the land.

But still, Arthur was determined to help those in distress. And although people were wary of him, there was no denying that he was an excellent knight, and those in trouble were glad of his help. In fact, Arthur became the first call for anyone who was having trouble with faerie folk. Leave black-armoured warriors and corrupt kings to the other knights of England – it was Arthur you needed if there was something particularly strange afoot.

And that was how Arthur found himself being sent on his most unusual mission of all.

He was out riding one day when a fellow knight galloped up to him, a look of terror in his eyes the likes of which Arthur had never seen.

"Sir Arthur! I'm so glad to have found you!" the knight panted, not even bothering to dismount. "I must beg your assistance and summon you to Farthing Forest. There is a very strange knight there and we fear he must be…one of the fair folk."

Arthur blinked at the knight in confusion. "A strange knight? Is he evil?"

"He must be," the other replied. "His armour is unlike anything we have ever seen, and his helmet is made of purest glass! He is the most fearful sight I have ever laid eyes on – and what's more, he is protecting an extraordinary contraption of metal! Like a small house, and yet…not! It is most definitely not human, and only you can possibly solve this puzzle, Sir Arthur."

Arthur was instantly intrigued by the bizarre tale, although he had never heard of any such knight or magical metal house in his dealings with the faerie folk. He had no idea what might lay in wait for him, but he was curious, and hoped to be able to help.

And so, Sir Arthur rode off to Farthing Forest, arriving there the following afternoon. The sun was high in the sky, and a bright glint of light through the trees warned Arthur that he must be drawing near to the strange metal house.

He left the cover of the trees, and his eyes widened in shock.

A huge metal sphere was resting on the grass, shining brightly under the summer sun. But even more surprising, the strange knight Arthur had been warned of was sitting on a log beside the sphere, his head in his hands and sobbing his heart out.

No matter where this strange knight came from, or what he might be doing in Farthing Forest, he was obviously in distress. And that was all that mattered to Arthur.

He dismounted his horse and left it in the cover of the trees as he took a few careful steps towards the strange knight.

"Pardon me, good sir," he called gently. The man jumped up, and as soon as he saw Arthur he backed away in fear.

"I don't have any weapons," he said desperately. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just…I'm lost."

The man spoke with a strange accent, and his words sounded like a mix between English and some other foreign tongue. But Arthur found he could understand, and as soon as he gathered that the man was lost, he knew what he had to do.

"I mean you no harm," Arthur promised. To prove it, he unbuckled his scabbard and laid his sword on the grass. "I was told an evil knight was haunting the forest, but I see now that that is not the case. If you need any help, I humbly offer my services." He knelt on the ground with a hand on his heart. "I am Sir Arthur, and it is my duty to help those in distress. I know that you may not be human, but that matters not to me. I only want to help in any way I can, if you'll let me."

To his joy, the other knight breathed a sigh of relief and even laughed. "Thank God! Thank you, Arthur – ah, I mean, Sir Arthur." Arthur looked up and returned the man's tearful smile as he got to his feet again. "I am human, don't worry! I really don't know what you can do to help, but I'm glad of an ally, at least. It's been a rough few days," the man said, smiling sadly. "I'm Alfred Jones."

"Sir Alfred – "

"Oh, no! Just Alfred," the man interrupted.

Arthur raised an eyebrow at the stranger and glanced down at his white suit. "Not a knight? Is that not some form of armour you're wearing?"

Alfred looked down at his suit and laughed. "Oh, no! Ha ha! It's um…well…you're really not going to believe me…"

"I will try my best," Arthur assured him. "I was called to help you personally because I have a great deal of experience in unbelievable matters. I am determined to help those in need, no matter who they are or where they come from. I assure you, whatever you have to tell me, I will do my best to understand."

"Well, that's good…" Alfred said, smiling ruefully, as if he knew Arthur would regret those words. "'Cause you see, I'm kind of…a space-traveller from the future…"


	8. April 8th, 2014

April 8th, 2014 - Just a T-shirt

**AUTHOR: spectrum-22**

**April 8th, 2014 - Just a T-shirt**

England could just tell America had done something annoying within seconds of him entering the room. A single glance was all it took to see the corners of his mouth twitching upwards into a dumb grin, the gleam in his eyes one that England recognised all to well as trouble, or at the very least, amusement at his expense.

"What have you done," he asked flatly, eyeing him with suspicion.

"Huh?" America questioned innocently, eyebrows knitting together in apparent confusion, "Nothing!"

England rolled his eyes. "As much as I hate to break it to you, subtlety is not one of your strongest points."

"No idea what you're talking about."

"I know you've done _something _I'm probably not going to like."

The accused nation sighed loudly, completely overdramatically in England's opinion. "Honestly, stop being so paranoid! Let's go!"

"…Alright," he conceded, not entirely convinced but willing to drop it for now.

Grabbing his coat he led America out of his house into the bright but blustery morning, the cold wind soon replaced by the heat of the London underground.

It was there, stuck on the tube temporarily stopped by some fault up ahead, that England found out just what the other had been hiding.

"Man, it's hot in here isn't it?" America murmured, to which England agreed, thankful it was past rush hour and not packed. His eyes flitted to America's jacket as he began to unzip it, and that's when he saw it.

There on his chest, standing out boldly against the white t-shirt, was the large print of the letter _I _ and a giant red heart. He snorted and gave him a disapproving look.

"_Really_?"

"What?"

England shook his head in disbelief. "You look like such a tourist," he muttered, though felt a strange flutter in his chest at the thought of America wearing a shirt proclaiming love for his capital.

Which was complete nonsense of course, because it was his city, not _him._ And it was, after all, just a t-shirt.

And more importantly, as perhaps he should've known, that was not what it said it all.

America unzipped the jacket completely and revealed the letters _NY_ beneath the _I _and giant heart.

England did not know what face he made but it must have been something special because America started sniggering. Loudly.

"You…are _such_ an idiot."

Evidently pleased with himself, America shot him a cheesy grin.

"Is that really supposed to make me laugh? Or do you just enjoy annoying me for no reason?"

"Both, I guess!"

England tutted and crossed his arms. "All you're going to do is convince my people that Americans are stupid."

"_Hey_! It's funny! You English people have a weird sense of humour…I bet people will laugh because it's _ironic_."

"I highly doubt it!"

But luck was not on his side, because at that moment the pretty young woman sat opposite them smiled straight at America.

Who proceeded to wink at her, and England inwardly groaned.

"It _is _funny, right?" he asked her, eyes practically sparkling with his most charming smile.

"Kind of," she replied, looking at him in that way England saw an incredible amount of women do for someone so daft. "So…you're American?"

"Through and through!" he laughed, nudging England with his elbow as if to _say see what I did there_?!

England did see, but wasn't that amused.

He only half paid attention to the following conversation of how she'd always wanted to travel around America, said nation embracing the opportunity to big up his country and make suggestions. A twinge in England's chest tried to tell him he was jealous, but that was completely ridiculous so he squashed it, telling himself it was only because she should've been talking to _him_ instead of the giant ego on his left.

But then America paused mid conversation, and he couldn't help but listen in.

"Um," he started, appearing to pick his words carefully. "Well, America's the best, of course! But yeah, England can be pretty nice. When it's not raining all the time. And when people actually smile…instead of being all sarcastic…"

Against his better judgement England glanced sideways at him, only to find him doing exactly the same, and they both looked away again sharpish.

America was just generalizing. He did _not _know why his cheeks were heating up.

"Like you!" he said to the girl, "you've got a lovely smile!"

_As smooth as ever,_ England groused to himself while she blushed.

The tube started moving again, soon arriving at Camden town where they departed and America assured her he just _knew_ she would make it to America one day!, leaving her with her day thoroughly brightened.

"Now that you've finished using it to chat up my citizens," England said with a bit more snark than he'd intended to as they exited the underground, "you can hide that bloody top away."

"Oh please! I wasn't flirting with her!"

England shot him a deadpan expression.

"What? It's not my fault if people find me attractive!"

"So modest," he muttered, coming to a stop at a stand full of 'I heart London' merchandise. "Look, you can wear one of these instead," he said dryly.

"No way! I'm not ready to go round wearing a shirt that says I love you on it!"

England froze. America did a double take, flustered. "I mean- um-"

Neither really knew what to say. But after extensive spluttering England eventually attempted to help him out. "It's just a t-shirt, you idiot," he said softly, voicing his own thought from earlier.

"Yeah, haha. I know."

They stood awkwardly for a few seconds, the merchant giving them (and America's top, England noted) a funny look before they finally continued down the street.

"Let's get lunch!"

"Hm? Already?!" he chided, doing his best as well to go back to normality, but still distracted.

Because it may have been just a t-shirt, but the image of America wearing it wouldn't leave his mind for the rest of the day.


	9. April 9th, 2014

April 9th, 2014 - A Dance

**AUTHOR:** join-all-the-fandoms

**April 9th, 2014 - A Dance**

America surveyed the room with utter boredom. He hated it when the First Lady would suggest, which really meant force in his vocabulary, for him to go to such formal events like the one he was in now. Granted, it wasn't as formal as other things- this was a masquerade party at least- but that wasn't the point. America hated attending things like these, mostly because he couldn't wear his bomber jacket and he had to socialize with others. He loved his people, don't get him wrong, but polite conversation was never his thing.

A waiter came by and offered him some caviar, to which America shook his head at politely rejected it. The smile fell from his face as soon as the waiter walked away. "I should have just gone to McDonalds." He muttered, accepting the glass of champagne another waiter offered him. "At least there I'd have actual food."

"It's frightening how you believe McDonalds is actual food. Really, I thought I raised you better than that." America's breath caught at the familiar voice behind him. He spun around, almost spilling his wine, and let a huge grin spread on his face. Though it was a masquerade party, and everyone was wearing masks, he knew right away who it was. The simple, white mask the other wore only served to accentuate the emerald eyes that America loved so much.

"Arthur!" America barely remembered to put his glass down on a nearby table before pulling the other into his arms. He hadn't seen England in months, excluding world meetings, and he was genuinely surprised by the other's presence. As far as he knew, there wasn't a meeting scheduled with England or his prime minister in the nearby future so it was doubtful the other was here on business. "What're you doing here? I thought we weren't gonna see each other until the next world meeting."

"My boss decided that I deserved some time off." England muttered, his breath tickling America's neck slightly. He had reciprocated the embrace almost as soon as it started and was quite enjoying being in his lover's arms after so long. " Coincidentally, the First Lady informed me of this event a short time later and invited me to attend."

America's grin, if possible, widened. "Remind me to thank her later." Then an idea struck him and he pulled away from England. "Hey, let's dance."

England stared at him. "What?"

"Dance." America motioned to the dance floor, where many couples were enjoying themselves. "Don't you want to?"

"You hate dancing."

"That's not true."

"You hate _this_ type of dancing."

America laughed. "Usually, yeah, but I feel like dancing to it right now." In actuality, he just really wanted an excuse to hold England close. If that meant having to endure the formal steps he was forced to learn as a child, then so be it. "So, are you coming or am I going to have to find someone else?" He didn't mean it, of course, but it was always fun to annoy his lover.

As he expected, England glared at him and took his hand, leading him- rather aggressively- to the where the other couples were dancing. "As if I'd let you do that, idiot."

America laughed again and let himself be dragged onto the dance floor. He hadn't waltzed since the 19th century and he was most likely more than a bit rusty. There was a good chance of him stepping on England's foot multiple times, and in turn the Brit spilling out curses and half-hearted insults at him for doing so. They'll probably argue for a while, maybe causing a scene, and make up later. Then America would convince him to go to McDonalds for some real food. However, if America was being completely honest, he didn't really care how their dance would turn out. England was here, and that's all that mattered.


	10. April 10th, 2014

April 10th, 2014 - Not a Date

**AUTHOR:** seecarrun

**April 10th, 2014 - Not a Date**

"It's not a date. It's not a date."

For as long as he could remember needing to know such a thing, England had a tell-tale equation he used to figure out if a particular outing was a date or not.

It was simple, but brilliant in its simplicity, and for thousands of years, it had yet to let the island nation down:

_If you have to ask if it's a date, it's not a date._

"It's not a date. It's _most definitely_ not a date."

As far as England was concerned, if the person asking you out on the outing did not make their intentions clear enough for you to know for a fact that they were _romantic_ intentions, they did not mean them to be romantic at all.

Simple.

"Not. A. Date."

So why in the name of the Queen was he struggling so badly with this one?

Oh right. Of course.

_America_ was the one who extended the invitation.

Frowning at his sweaty, frumpy appearance in the mirror, he let out an agonizing groan and fell back onto his bed. "I'm pathetic," he sighed. "Just because it was America, doesn't change anything. It's still not a date."

It had all started at a meeting when he offhandedly mentioned being able to tolerate a particular one of America's newest string of superhero movies, (and _definitely_ not because the titular character happened to resemble a certain someone) and America happened to overhear.

"No way, dude! You like Captain America?"

England flushed. "_Tolerate_ him."

America ignored him. "That's so cool dude! You know, the newest movie just came out. Wanna come to my place this weekend and watch it with me?"

England blinked. "_You_ haven't seen it yet?"

"Pffft, of course I have," America snorted, waving him off. "But I'd totally see it an eighth time, if it means you get to see the movie how it was meant to be seen!" He winked. "In _America_."

Willing down the blush he knew was beginning to creep up his neck, he crossed his arms. "That's preposterous."

"Awww, c'mon England!" he whined. "I'll even pay for ya! What do you say?"

And of course England had agreed. Like America would have let him refuse if he tired.

Which led him to the guest bedroom in America's New York penthouse, stressing over which way to style his hair (not that it mattered, it would be messed up in 4.2 seconds anyway) for his totally-not-a-date.

"Hey England, ya ready to go?" America called form the hallway, knocking on the door. "It's a short walk, but we gotta leave soon if you wanna catch the previews!"

"One moment," he called back, fruitlessly running his hand through his hair once more before throwing open the door far too quickly to play it off as anything resembling casual.

America jumped a little surprise at the sudden opening of the door, but fell into relaxed mode quickly. England couldn't help but notice he was wearing a nice, button up shirt that brought out his eyes, and his good jeans.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

England nodded, grabbing his wallet off the chest of drawers by the door and following him down the hall. "I apologise for keeping you waiting," he mumbled, for lack of anything better to say.

America smiled at him over his shoulder and gave a thumbs-up. "No prob, dude! You look nice."

"Thank you," he mumbled, coughing in his hand to hide his pinking cheeks. "You look very nice, yourself."

America answered with a kind smile, holding open the door for England as they walked out the door and to the elevator.

Inwardly, England pumped his fist in the air.

_It's definitely a date!_


	11. April 11th, 2014

April 11th, 2014 - Scintillating

**ARTIST:** dreamerinamoreheroicworld

**AUTHOR: **Charlotte

**April 11th, 2014- Scintillating**

As the self proclaimed creator of the English language, it was natural he loved words, they were easy to manipulate, but only if you knew your way around them. English especially was notorious for it's words with so many meanings they make your head spin, or words that are maddeningly similar, but according to the stunning man sitting next to him, swearing aggressively at some shooting game, it suited him, apparently he was a complex and infuriating man, but that was only one man's opinion.

A man who meant the world to him.

It's where he stumbled over his precious language, when it came to describing him. It seemed easy on the outside, throwing insults he didn't mean, all the shouting and arguing, but inside, inside he was lost. He wanted to be able to complement the other, but words didn't seem enough to capture him and anyway, he would only get teased.

It wasn't him who came up with the idea, of course not. It was the glorious American who had completely forgotten about it and was now flipping the bird at the TV, a 'kesesese' noise coming from his headphones. Just an hour ago, they had been chatting over dinner, he had asked:

"Hey…..um,can I ask a question? Do you think that..do you know a word that describes us?"

Obviously he had been stunned by the request, but apparently it would be very cool and romantic if they had their own word, like a Hollywood couple. He was going to shout about how Hollywood was ridiculous and how it's standards were too fantasy like when he saw the crimson blush on tanned cheeks…he had replied that he would think about it and get back to him….how he wished he hadn't. He had been plagued with what words could possibly describe the enigma of a man he married. Looking over to him found a smile creeping onto his lips, the simple golden band still shining due to years of love and care. Suddenly it came to him, he focused too much on describing just one half of this relationship. The answer became clear to him

"Scintillating."

The jump was adorable, he would have to commit it to memory for future reference.

"…What?"

"The word that describes us love."

The smile he received lit up the room, the game completely forgotten, German swears ignored, full attention focused on the smaller Englishman

"Really?! What does it mean?"

Figures, he comes the awkward mushy part….damn him.

"Well it depends, it's a word that has two meanings and can be used in two different ways, which i…..I feel reflects us, especially, perhaps, your meaning."

"Oh really?" A smirk, git, he's not as clueless as he seems. "Please, tell me more."

He resisted the urge to do something childish like stick out his tongue or shout or punch that stupid face and forced a smile of his own.

"It can mean to sparkle or to shine brightly, which I think matches you perfectly, and i suppose you want an explanation so listen good because I will say this only once…..You shine in many different ways….Like physically, let's be honest here puberty was good to you, all that working out you do helps too. You are beautiful from your toes to your head….however I have a personal liking for your smile, that brightens up any room…and I mean your real smile, not that fake one you do for meetings."

He had the sense to look a bit sheepish at that, the blush creeping to his ears.

"It's ok love, anyway, your personality is bright too, you're so optimistic, it can get annoying on a blooming Monday morning meeting I will admit, but It helps give me hope, it's a sign that someone still cares about the future of this planet and of the people that inhabit it. You encourage me to work my hardest and are a much needed motivation on work filled nights. It may soon be that you are no longer a huge influence on the world or on the other nations….but you will always have a big impact on me, your light guides me I guess you could say."

"…..Arthur…."

"I love you Alfred."

Suddenly he was caught up in a trademark bone crushing hug. Alfred leaned his head on his shoulder and sighed happily. He couldn't help but smile in return. They sat there in happy silence, but of course, Alfred felt the need to break it.

"So what's the other meaning?

"Pardon?"

"For that sci-….sci-…whatever word you said."

Arthur smirked.

"Well I don't mean to boast but it mean brilliantly clever and/or skilful, which of course I am both, god knows you need some backup in that area."

"Hey, i'm plenty smart and skilful."

"Says the man who got caught in a trap because he was rubbing his ego."

"You were the one complementing me!"

They descended into a traditional argument, but they both couldn't help grinning like maniacs throughout.


	12. April 12th, 2014

April 12th, 2014 - Ugly

**AUTHOR:** seductive-tonia

**April 12th, 2014 - Ugly**

Ugly. That's what Arthur thought of himself. I knew.

I saw the way England looked at himself, in the mirror. I first noticed a couple of decades ago. We would pass by a store, while walking down the street and I would see something I wanted, and my eyes would light up and I would start pestering him about it, that I wanted it for Christmas, or my birthday or Valentine's Day, or whatever and then I'd see it.

I'd see him looking at the glass, and he would frown. His extremely thick eyebrows would knit together and he would begin to scowl just a bit. His expression would become very critical.

At first, for a while, I figured he was just looking at something in the display or someone in the store through the window and scowling in disapproval, in dislike. But eventually, I realized. Arthur was looking at himself. His reflection in the glass.

And it wasn't just in store windows, I'd noticed after a few years. It was any mirror, whatsoever. Whenever England woke up in the morning, and rolled out of bed, out my embrace (dragging me along with him, of course), he would brush his teeth and wash his face and as he would comb his hair, he would look up in the mirror and frown at his reflection.

Needless to say, a he a good boyfriend, who loved the person he was with, such as I, was instantly alarmed. And after another decade or two (maybe around the 80s or 90s, when we were Safety and Humpty dancing it through the decade), I began to intervene. Whenever he would look at himself, and make that face, I would intertwine my fingers into his. I'd lean over and kiss his temple or his cheek or his nose or his forehead or maybe his lips.

He thought I was just being affectionate, though. That I was just trying to butter him up, to get him to buy me whatever knick knack or toy or pair of shoes that sparked my fancy, naturally. But that wasn't it. I genuinely cared about England's happiness. I wanted Arthur to see himself as the beautiful man that I saw when I looked at him.

So, I made it my mission. Whenever we had sex, I would instigate it by kissing him, everywhere, and when we actually fucked, I would ask England to let me look at him while we were fucking. He had been apprehensive at first, having promptly turned a deep shade of crimson at the suggestion, the mere thought, of me seeing his "orgasm face" when we had sex. But, we did.

He had undressed for me, and I made sure I watched. I had kissed him, everywhere, taking my time, making sure he knew how much I loved him. And then, once we actually got to having sex, and we looked into each other's eyes, he turned red. I felt that this was only natural, and continued…that is, until I saw tears form into his eyes.

"Engla- Arthur, what's wrong?" I asked, my voice going from surprised to concerned and soft toned in a matter of seconds. I pulled out and pulled him close, stroking his back, lovingly. ""Hey, baby, don't cry. Please. What's wrong?"

Arthur looked up at me and the expression on his face broke my heart. He looked absolutely mortified, and he was crying, not just tearing up. In fact, he was sobbing. He didn't answer me, so I just held him there. I let him cry, just let him let it out. We just sat like that for a while, him crying and me holding him. I knew that if I were anyone else, he wouldn't have let me see him cry. Eventually, he broke the silence.

"I don't want you to look at me. I'm ugly." He mumbled, softly, face buried into my chest, his long, narrow fingers playing with the dog tags on my chain.

I just lifted up his chin and kissed him. "You're not ugly, sweetheart." I reassured him, softly.

"Oh, cut that crap! I am ugly. I have bushy thick eyebrows and mustard yellow hair and a crooked smile and an upturned nose and I'm just…I'm ugly. It's obvious."

"…who told you that?" I asked, feeling sympathy for him. I understood what feeling ugly felt like, even though I haven't felt that way in years.

"Everyone." He replied, miserably, burying his face in my chest again. "Oh," I asked, smiling at how cute this was. "Like who?" "Like France."  
"Do you really care what France has to say? I thought you hated France." "Well, I do, but its just…I " He spluttered, caught off guard, looking at me. I laughed, loudly and kissed him, sweetly. "England. It really doesn't matter what France or  
Japan or China or Russia or Zimbabwe or what anyone thinks about you."

"What about you?"  
"Not even me! It only matters what you think about you. I don't think you're ugly. I think you're one of the most beautiful people I've ever met. I love your thick eyebrows. They make you look regal, since they're arched. And I love your blonde hair it reminds me of sand. Or the color of old legal documents preserved in a museum. And your smile makes me get butterflies…" I smiled at him, moving some hair from his face. "Only you can choose who to believe. Your boyfriend, who's madly, insanely, utterly in love with you…or some random guy you hate."

England looked up at me, and smiled in such a lovely way, I got butterflies again. He still had tears in his eyes, and I probably did too, from how happy I felt at that very moment, but I'll never admit it aloud. Right then, right there, he looked absolutely —

"But you don't like my nose?" He asked, joking, laughing as he cried.  
"Your nose is one of the cutest things about you." I reassured him, kissing him, holding him, laughing and crying with him.  
_Beautiful._


	13. April 13th, 2014

April 13th, 2014 - Departure

**AUTHOR:** empressvegah

**April 13th, 2014 - Departure**

Alfred F. Jones was an exchange student from America—part of the international program Elizabeth's high school participated in. The class president often wondered how on earth Alfred was a part of the program when only the exceptionally bright and intelligent students were able to participate. Jones was not even close to being intelligent. He used a crude, corrupt version of English—calling it American, the nerve! He spelt his words wrong, used atrocious grammar that grated on her delicate ears horrifically. Obviously, she denied that Alfred aced all the Life and Physical Sciences; he was the Science Department's favorite student. All Elizabeth could see was that the American was a total git who teased her too much.

That American idiot kept on sending her winks every now and then. He volunteered to be her partner in cooking class when no one else would so he could gloat to anyone who listened to his blabbering mouth that he survived Home Economics with her as his cooking partner. He often interrupted her during her morning announcements so he could just ask why her eyes were so green, or how soft her hair looked (making her flush red and the class now snickered knowingly whenever Alfred raised his hand while she was giving the class announcements). The git usually approached her in the middle of the hallway almost every single day just to ask if the Student Council needed any help—clearly that thoughtful concern was just a trap to sabotage her precious work.

He even nominated her as their class's representative for the school pageant. That mere suggestion elicited a borderline violent reaction from their class, saying just how unfit Elizabeth was to be their representative for a beauty pageant. She felt utterly humiliated (and a little hurt) by what transpired on that day.

She would never forgive Alfred Jones for causing her utmost grief. Not his charming grin nor his twinkling blue eyes could make her think otherwise. Even if he paid attention to her more than anyone else.

As she was waiting for their homeroom teacher to arrive, Elizabeth couldn't shake off the nervous excitement bouncing inside her. She fiddled with the tips of her pigtail and then twirled a pen. She adjusted the frame of her eyeglasses. She flipped her notebook open and began unconsciously scribbling the letters "A" and "E" on a page. She almost recoiled in shock when she found herself almost completing a drawing of a heart between the letters "A" and "E". She quickly slammed the notebook shut and heard a snicker coming from her right.

Alfred Jones was laughing at her—the bane of her existence. She huffed and stared straight ahead, intending to ignore him.

The teacher finally arrived, thank heavens. He caught the attention of the whole class with his usual greeting. He then said, "Class, I am sad to say that one of your classmates will be returning back to the United States by the end of the week." A collective gasp was heard, and then all but one head turned to look at their only American classmate. Alfred had the decency to look a bit embarrassed.

"I… kinda forgot to tell you guys?" Elizabeth heard him say in his horrible American accent. She didn't look at him. Instead, she stared at her lap. Hard. She didn't want anyone to see how her eyes widened in shock upon hearing the news. Or how her heart stopped beating for a second, only to resume pumping in a galloping pace. She felt breathless all of a sudden, like how she felt hours after drinking her first and only cup of disgusting coffee. Her hands were beginning to shake and she fisted them tight, telling her that she might just stay away from strong black tea for today.

She clearly wasn't affected by what her teacher said.

Elizabeth avoided Alfred like plague. Whenever the American tried to approach her, she walked past him in hurried steps, escaping to the Student Council Office where she knew Alfred couldn't easily enter. She buried herself in work, determined to finish up as many paper works as her body allowed. But no matter what she did, a tiny part of her knew she couldn't avoid Alfred forever.

"Lizzie!"

She heard the distinguished accent and her legs walked faster.

"Lizzie, wait up!"

She rounded up a corner and ran up the stairs, wishing that the Student Council Office wasn't located at the topmost floor of the building. Climbing up the last flight of stairs, she was so relieved to see the old wooden door of her office; her lungs couldn't handle the running anymore. Fumbling with the keys, she almost made it inside the safe zone when she felt a hand wrap around her arm and spun her around.

Alfred Jones was panting. Beads of sweat collected on his forehead. His blue eyes gazed intently at her. Catching his breath, Alfred didn't let go of her arm. Instead, he tightened his grip on her, but not enough to bruise. A gasp escaped from her lips, and he immediately let go, an apology making way to his mouth.

"Sorry for that. But you have been avoiding me for days already. Today's my last day in school," he said in a rush, the words tumbling out and Elizabeth almost couldn't understand them with how loud the blood was pounding in her ears. "There's only one thing I want to tell you, Elizabeth—" She unconsciously shivered upon hearing her full name coming from his lips. "Meet me in the airport tomorrow. My flight's at 3:15PM. I'll be in the departure lounge, waiting." His blue eyes were staring at her, begging her to see him at the airport tomorrow.

"W-why would I when all you did was to make my life miserable!?" She winced at the stutter, but took a step back from Alfred, hand reaching for the door knob. "Good riddance, Jones!" She then slammed her door shut.

A few close friends were with Alfred at the departure lounge, wishing for his safety. Alfred grinned and laughed with them, but his eyes kept scanning the area for his favorite pigtailed girl with angry green eyes. His friends suddenly fell silent and he looked at them in confusion. Kiku, his Japanese friend, pointed at something behind him, and when he turned around, his eyes widened in genuine, ecstatic surprise upon seeing Elizabeth. She was frowning; her eyebrows meeting together at her glabella. Her golden tresses were held loosely by a pink ribbon, spilling on her shoulder, making her look very pretty. Her red glasses were framing her beautiful green eyes and Alfred was speechless as Elizabeth took a step forward. He then saw her hands twisting anxiously, and he knew that he wasn't the only one nervous.

"Hi Lizzie," Alfred breathed once they were only a foot away from each other.

"Hi," Elizabeth replied back softly, looking up through her lashes. "Sorry for barely making it in time, but I… I-I wish you a safe trip, Jo—"

She didn't manage to finish her sentence as Alfred quickly pulled her into a hug, his strong arms wrapped around her tightly. He felt her jolt, probably from shock, and before she could say anything about it, he pressed his cheek against hers to whisper to her ear, "Call me Alfred, Elizabeth."

He felt her nod at his request, then softly she replied, "All right, Alfred."

Alfred grinned and pulled away, ignoring the stares they were getting from their classmates. "That's better, Liz. Before I go, I gotta tell you something important." This was it. Elizabeth looked at him curiously, her cheeks flushed red. He thought it was a positive sign and took a deep breath.

"I like you a lot, Elizabeth. Sorry if I seem like a 'git' to you, but I honestly like you. You're smart and dedicated to your work. You're beautiful—I wasn't kidding when I nominated you to be our representative. I like you, Elizabeth. Sorry for burdening you with this, but I just want you to know that you're worth… loving for."

He saw her stare at him in shock. Alfred then heard his flight being announced. Stealing one last hug, he sneakily tugged the pink ribbon tying Elizabeth's hair, releasing the golden locks for all to see. "I'll keep this, 'kay?" he told her. With a heavy heart, he turned to walk towards the exit gate, pocketing the only reminder he had of Elizabeth.

"Alfred, you idiot!" Elizabeth shouted at him. He turned around to see her eyes filling with tears—oh shit, he didn't want to see her cry—and then she continued, "I like you too, you git! You better contact me once you've landed safely!" And she turned around and fled.

-  
Twenty-five year old Alfred Jones took out a faded pink ribbon from a crafted box. He stared at it for a moment then whispered to himself, "I'm coming home to you, darlin' Lizzie."


	14. April 14th, 2014

April 14th, 2014 - Reunion

**AUTHOR: **empressvegah

**April 14th, 2014 - Reunion**

_Warning: Angst, post break-up_

"Watch it, you—" Arthur's words died on his throat as his eyes finally gazed upon the person who rudely bumped onto him. Those blue eyes the Englishman longed to see again widened in recognition, and the voice that haunted him even during his sleep sounded joyful as it greeted, "Hey Arthur! It's awesome to see you again!"

Of course he would say that. Alfred F. Jones, as far as he could remember, was a kind and wonderful man. He looked the same as he did the last time they'd seen each other. He could remember it vividly as he was riding away from him, on the day his heart broke. He was watching Alfred, who was standing under the lamppost, the yellow light shining brightly over him, making him even more handsome in Arthur's eyes. He kept that memory close to his heart as he did his best to get through the loneliness he never managed to get rid of, even after almost a year of breaking up with Alfred.

A few seconds passed by before Arthur had the courage to move his mouth. "H-Hello, Alfred, how have you been?" he managed to say out loud. He almost didn't know how to reply. All his brain could do was process the happy glint he saw in those blue eyes, telling Arthur that Alfred was in a very happy world right now. A world without him. Maybe Alfred was happy with a new love he'd found. Were they the same as him when they were together? The thought alone brought Arthur a new wave of pain. He could feel his mouth starting to quiver, but he did his best to clench his jaw and never show Alfred how much he was hurting still.

Then his brain was reminding him of the things he'd been meaning to do since the last time they'd seen each other.

Arthur had been thinking about it for the longest time. He had it all planned out in his head, he was very confident that everything would play out perfectly.

He would see Alfred in the streets, just like now. He would then embrace the man as tight as he could, pride and propriety be damned, and maybe steal a kiss from those lips he longed for. But now that the scenario he was thinking over and over again for the past year was happening, all he could say was 'How have you been?'

"I'm doin' great, Artie! How 'bout you? I sure hope you're doin' great too!" Alfred said excitedly, as if he truly believed that Arthur was doing 'great' after their breakup.

"Yes… I'm doing… great," he replied weakly, his verbose tongue running out of words to speak. His sweaty palms were starting to shake. Alfred's smile was paralyzing as he was brought to another time when that smile was directed and exclusively for him. He remembered those strong arms wrapped around him as they cuddled in the sofa, or bracing at the sides of his head as they made love all night.

But what more could he say to Alfred? His heart was starting to beat erratically against his chest. Could he tell him that nothing had ever changed since the last time they'd seen each other, that Arthur was still so in love with him after all these months?

Life was so cruel sometimes.

"Hope you continue feelin' great, Artie! I'm glad to hear that, honestly." There was a slightly guilty tone to it, Arthur noted painfully, and somehow that sentence cemented the fact that Alfred had really moved on from what they had. Arthur did his best to give a smile, but he knew it came out pathetic on his face, because Alfred's eyes widened and he quickly added, "I better get goin' now, Artie. See you soon, hopefully!" He patted his shoulder once before heading back to where he was going.

Arthur was left standing in the busy streets, the warmth of Alfred's hand lingering on his shoulder as he watched Alfred's retreating back until he could no longer see him. Feeling hollow, Arthur made his way back to his house where he could at least cry his heart out in peace.

Or as peaceful as it could be, when all his hopes of being happy again were shattered on this day.


	15. April 15th, 2014

April 15th, 2014 - Infinity

**AUTHOR: **obscure-fandom-lurker

**April 15th, 2014 - Infinity**

Arthur swore he saw infinity when he looked into Alfred F Jones' eyes.

Which was an amazing feat in itself, considering his long life and the centuries upon centuries of memories trapped inside his noggin. All those more mind-blowing memories, like the Great Time War and the crippling loneliness of marking the passing of his own kind, to seeing the birth of the universe and watching as it ended, moment by moment, until nothing remained, not time or space, but little him. And all the things he had seen and loved and lost were slitted right next to the smaller, yet no less significant moments, like waking up next to another – Alfred's - warm body, the other's soft breaths mingling with his own as they lay tangled in skin. The smile he would give, all curves and no teeth, and the chaste kiss they'd share, morning breath be damned. And he would steal a line from a famous book from Alfred's time and say 'We were infinite'.

Yet, for all the sights the universe offered to him, none of them could compare, could never come close when he looked into those eyes. If you caught him in his normal mood, he would comment that they were just blue, albeit a very nice blue, not quite TARDIS blue but that was alright. If you caught him in a thoughtful mood, he would compare them to a blue supergiant star that is in a constellation named the Canis Major by Alfred's home planet. But if you asked him now, he would stare thoughtfully to the side and say, 'Infinite'. Not another word. How does one describe infinity when they reflect the whole universe and beyond right back into Arthur's eyes?

And he would cross time and space again, become an angel or a demon or a pirate or a man or even a queen, just to smile into those forget-me-never eyes one last time.

—-

_A/N: Ok, all you really need to know is that Arthur is the Doctor and Alfred is his companion. Or was :3 And that this is for my friend who's birthday that's close by ^.^'_

_A/N 1) Part of the first paragraph came from the eleventh doctor's speech from 'The Rings of Akhaten'. My friend (whom I dedicate this fic to) showed me that part of the episode, and it has been stuck in my mind ever since._

_A/N 2) No guesses to what the book that line refers to._

_A/N 3) The blue supergiant that Arthur is describing is the Eta Canis Majoris, found in the Canis Major constellation. Though fairly young, it is already nearing the end of its life, as most blue supergiants._

_A/N 4) The comment about Alfred's 'forget-me-never' eyes are an allusion to Davie's flower, the forgot-me-not. Well, I think it is…_


	16. April 16th, 2014

April 16th, 2014

**AUTHOR**: SillyKwado

**April 16th, 2014**

The moment Alfred got back to his dorm room he threw down his bag and turned on his laptop. All he wanted to do was to log on to his game and talk to his best friend. He had a long week and hadn't been able to log on to Realms of Destiny for a while to talk to Saethwr. Well, that's not his real name, it's his character name. They've only known each other for a few months now due to a dungeon that went horribly.

Basically, they teamed up by chance in a random dungeon with three other people who were absolute asses. They were the only two in agreement that their group was shit so they quit it (since they were getting nowhere anyway) and teamed up and completed the dungeons themselves (turns out they were strong enough to get through them). Eventually, they began helping each other and questing together, and now they are always talking to each other basically about anything.

Alfred logged on to his main, Allred, and sent Saethwr a message when he saw that he was on.

[Allred]: hey Sae wassup! miss me?

[Saethwr]: wb al… lol not rlly

[Allred]: psh ur jus bein modest xD

[Saethwr]: ha

[Saethwr]: how did ur presentation go btw?

[Allred]: mehhhh

[Saethwr]: lol that bad? XD

[Allred]: nah but it coulda been betur

[Allred]: btw ive been wondering… how do u even pronounce ur name?

[Saethwr]: i hav no idea… lol :P

[Allred]: lol omg

[Allred]: well how do u pronounce it in ur head?

[Saethwr]: something like shajfnjesuhshdugev

[Allred]: lol k xD

[Allred]: how u even come up wit it?

[Saethwr]: … it means "archer" in welsh xD

[Allred]: wow original xD

[Allred]: wait, u kno welsh?

[Saethwr]: lol hell no

[Allred]: oh lol k xD

[Allred]: wanna run something? =D

[Saethwr]: like…?

[Allred]: dungeon?

[Saethwr]: sure :P

Alfred once again returned from his classes and jumped onto his laptop. He needed to talk to Saethwr asap! Sae was the one person he can trust with his secret about Arthur. Arthur Kirkland, the quiet Brit across the hall and two doors down to the left. He was cute and polite and adorable and… actually, Alfred hasn't talked to him much. He's in one of his large lecture classes but that's the only time he ever sees him. He rarely even sees him enter and leave his room!

Sae knows about Alfred's crush with Arthur though. It's not that Alfred doesn't trust his brother or his roommate, Toris, it's just that Saethwr is easier to talk to. He doesn't judge and he gives good advice, though sometimes he likes to makes jokes out of things Alfred says. Plus, Sae doesn't know who "Allred" really is. Alfred hasn't felt exactly comfortable telling the guy he met online a few months ago what his real name is quite yet.

[Allred]: Sae!

[Saethwr]: wat?

[Allred]: guess wat!?1! :D

[Saethwr]: you… passed ur spanish test?

[Allred]: wat? no. i wish but no xD

[Allred]: i talked 2 him 2day! =D

[Saethwr]: who? oh that arthur guy youve been crushin on since ive 1st met u?

[Allred]: yessssssss!

[Saethwr]: congrats…? lol

[Allred]: we sat nxt 2 each other in lecture 2day~

[Saethwr]: and…?

[Allred]: and i accidentally dropped my pen and he gave it back 2 me, so i said thanks and he said "No problem." =D

[Saethwr]: …

[Allred]: gr8st moment of my lifeeee

[Saethwr]: oh yea… thats up there… right nxt to getting killed by jumping off that cliff in RW…

[Allred]: hey! i thought i was mounted!

[Saethwr]: y dont u just ask him out and get n2 his pants alrdy? ;P

[Allred]: gasp! Sae!

[Saethwr]: wat? thats wat ur thinkin… lol

[Allred]: noooo

[Saethwr]: just ask the guy out!

[Allred]: i caaaaaaant!

[Saethwr]: why noooooot?

[Allred]: cuz ive nvr even talked 2 him b4!

[Saethwr]: 2day seemed like a good start…

[Allred]: sae!

[Saethwr]: then talk 2 him al!

[Saethwr]: say "hey ur cute, want 2 get a coffee sometime?"

[Allred]: … he doesnt like coffee…

[Saethwr]: tea then! its beside the point!

[Allred]: but wat if he says no!

[Saethwr]: well u wont kno until u try!

[Saethwr]: besides he will prbly just b like "oh sounds lovely. let me just put down my book and we can be on our merry way."

[Allred]: sae im bein serious! DX

[Saethwr]: lol so am i… just talk 2 the guy! xD

[Allred]: maybe….

Alfred talked to Sae for a few more minutes before making some excuse about doing homework for his physics class so he could log off. He really didn't need any more extra "encouragement" for what he's about to do.

He opened the door and looked down the hall. Nobody. Perfect. That'll make things easier.

He slowly walked to Arthur's door with Sae's words floating around in his head and dread building in the pit of his stomach. Alfred felt as if he was going to be physically sick.

C'mon Jones! You can do it! Show Sae-whatever that you can talk to him!

He hesitantly raised his fist to the door knocking lightly, and praying to God and everybody above that nobody would answer. Apparently, nobody was up there because the door opened.

Arthur Kirkland – as adorable as ever – wore a slightly shocked expression when he saw Alfred standing there. He had a book in his hand and glasses on his face as if he had just been reading when Alfred interrupted.

Alfred stood there for a moment gaping before he realized that he had to say something.

"Um, hey you're cute. Want to get a coffee sometime?" Shit. Alfred could not believe he just said that, and judging from the look on Arthur's face, he couldn't either.

Then Arthur grinned.

"Oh sounds lovely," Arthur started with a knowing look. "Let me just put down my book and we can be on our merry way."


	17. April 17th, 2014

April 17th, 2014 - |Skype|Contacts|Conversation|Call|

**AUTHOR: **gottahida

**April 17, 2014 - |Skype|Contacts|Conversation|Call|**

_A/N: Based on something that happened to my friend_

_Emma- Belgium  
An- Vietnam_

"So are we talking crushes now?" Emma said into her headset. In the background her cat meowed and tried to hit her computer.

Alfred was about to open his comment on his crush, until he remembered exactly who was in this skype call. His own crush (Arthur) and one other person who knew who he had a crush on (Piece of shit Matt who sucks).

"Alfred knows who I have a crush on," Matt commented, "But it doesn't matter cause she isn't here." Alfred could hear the fucking smugness in Matt's voice. He was going to strangle that sonvabitch.

An's icon on the call kept flashing but she said nothing. It was though she were trying to say something but her headset wasn't working. Poor girl had couldn't really work techie stuff. Finally after they heard shuffling it gave way to her voice, "Wait can you guys hear me? I don't think I'm doing this right."

"We can hear you An." Arthur said.

"Oh, okay, it wasn't working for awhile I thought I did something wrong." An replied and then went back to being silent.

Alfred spoke next, "Wow An, I'm proud of you. This is the fifth time this call that you've hecked up your headset."

"Alfred," Arthur started, "Leave the damn girl alone."

"Please An knows I'm messin' with her."

After a moment Emma started talking again, "Hey, hey quit the fighting. We're talkin' crushes here. So c'mon, I wanna hear all about them."

Matt coughed in the background and easily Alfred could tell he was enjoying this so much. God damn Emma and her late night skype calls. Well late night for her and Arthur. For Matt, An, and Alfred it was only early evening for them.

An picked up after the silence, "Ah, well it's just this guy I talk to occasionally. None of you know him so it's not really worth mentioning." She sighed and said, "Anyone else going to share?"

Emma giggled and Arthur made awkward sounds, "Well there's Arthur's crush."

"Emma, please don't."

"Fine." She groaned, "Well, I'll just say who my crush is then. It's Arthur's best friend that we've both known since we were in primary school. Hot portuguese lady, so I'm set. Okay so, that just leaves Alfred."

Fuck. Everyone. In. This. Call.

"Uhm well, fuck I'm not going to say." He was starting to sweat. Matt was going to smell his fear.

And Matt smelled his fear alright, "I know who it is."

"Ooooh," Emma was getting excited, "Who is i-"

"MATTHEW WILLIAMS DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE I WILL EAT YOU."

"I wasn't going to say who it was, geez, calm down. All I was going to say was that they're in this call."

Emma was getting excited, "Oooh who is it? Tell me! I wanna know! Is it An?"

"No, it's not An… here I'll just… send you guys a pm over skype."

After a few seconds Emma and An (mainly Emma, An didn't have an opinion on it either way), read his note that it was Arthur who he had a crush on and were about to scream or something.

"Err, Alfred. I know that Emma and An have gotten the message but… I didn't. I mean if you're not comfortable sharing it with me on who your crush is… that's fine…" Arthur said, and his voice was slightly quiet now.

Alfred tsked, "Hey guys you can say who my crush is."

"It's Arthur." The call said

"So, Arthur you up for a skype date or something?" Alfred asked sheepishly.


	18. April 18th, 2014

April 18th, 2014 - As the Flower Says

**ARTIST:** fadedglory

**AUTHOR:** irisoflunadreams

**April 18th, 2014 - ****As the Flower Says**

It was easy to remember the day it began. The first indication the world could whirl into upheaval and prove you should always expect the unexpected. That was the problem with the unexpected.

You can't expect it.

The storm raged, undulating patterns of rain over the concrete as the wind blew in gusts. Arthur spent just a moment too long after his last class that morning, delayed by a group of giggly freshman girls bubbling over with questions that could have waited until their second weekly class meeting on Thursday. The session his assistant could handle, and questions his assistant could answer for the upcoming final exam.

The clouds released their torrents soon after they left.

Arthur snatched up his messenger bag and shoved in his materials as carefully as he could manage. He hoofed his way down the hallway like one of the college students and dashed to his office for lunch and his scheduled office hours.

By the time he wrenched the squeaky metal door open and slung his soggy overcoat and bag onto the faux leather chair, he was not prepared for the yelp and flailing of arms that greeted him.

He shrieked. "What the bloody—!"

"The hell, Doc?"

"You scared me, Jones!" He gawked down at his graduate assistant, wet and shivering in the seat, as the young man attempted to prevent his things from falling to the floor.

"Oh jeez, Doc."

"The hell are you doing here, Jones?" He leaned against his desk, steadying himself, and crossed his arms. "Well?"

"Uh…" Alfred scratched at the back of his head, ruffling his dripping, dark golden blonde hair, flinging water droplets.

"Wait," Arthur leaned forward to get a better look at his assistant. "How are you even wetter than I am?"

"Caught in the rain on my way to graduate housing. Your office building was the closest dry spot. Thought I'd try to wait out the storm."

"I can't fault you for that, I suppose." He turned to start up his electric kettle. "Some tea?"

Alfred grinned so wide that his glasses raised up on his cheeks—the way his nose crinkled made him look foolishly juvenile, and endearing. "You know I prefer coffee."

"I can fault you for that." He smirked back at his assistant. "I don't have any. Ha!"

"I was going to stop by anyway." Alfred winked and turned to rifle very carefully in his bag, purposefully nudging items out of the way, a very curious display. His assistant always seemed to choose the most peculiar things over which to obsess. The way he stuffed things into that worn bag, Arthur never considered organization high on the list.

"I have my own." Alfed brandished a crinkled packet newly liberated from the depths of his bag.

"Good for you." Arthur grabbed their cups.

They settled into silence. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight of Alfred staring, uncharacteristically downcast and pensive, at the floor, picking at a bandage around his thumb. Arthur's face fell. His assistant's last morning class was in the archeology department halfway across the campus, a ten minute walk!

"You alright there, Doc?"

Arthur realized he had been staring. "Yes, I'm fine. And, would you please stop calling me that, Jones."

"I'll stop calling you 'Doc' when you stop calling me 'Jones,' that was the deal."

"Fine. Just to shut you up." He took another sip of tea. "Are you sure there wasn't another reason you stopped by?"

Alfred's eyes narrowed and his lips puckered, the way they always did when he was lost in thought. "Ah, yeah. Um. I forgot what you wanted me to cover in the study session?"

"What did you do with the bloody notes I set in your box?"

"Dunno?"

"What kind of answer is that! Alfred, I swear you're like the undergraduates."

His assistant's mocking laugh failed, because he only sounded lyrical and bright, and it made Arthur feel like smiling.

"Here. Hand me my bag." He waved in the direction Alfred had tossed it, when it was handed over, he rooted around, seizing a manilla folder from inside. "Now, pay attention. I know you can remember, but I'll email you a copy to have on hand."

"Awesome!" Alfred grinned.

They remained in Arthur's glorified coat closet of an office, discussing the undergraduate humanities classes, Alfred's progress in his own studies, and all manner of topics in general, until well after the rainstorm had stopped and started anew. It wasn't altogether unpleasant to be stuck inside with Alfred.

"There goes the rain again," Alfred had stopped mid-sentence in their discussion on something Arthur suddenly could not remember. The boy had the attention-span of a puppy and caused his own to suffer by association.

Arthur grunted in agreement. "I have to go, and you can't stay."

"Meaning you don't want me to stay."

Too much time with such temptingly wholesome sunshine as Alfred would cause him to get him burned. Or sacked. "Meaning that, yes. Now, grab your things, and I'll drop you off at your flat."

"Wow, thanks, Doc!"

"Jones!"

"Sorry, Professor Kirkland," he droned.

Arthur rounded the desk, grabbed up his coat, and felt around the side of a bookcase for his umbrella.

It was a short drive and they rode in atypical silence until Arthur stopped in front of Alfred's flat.

"Thanks, Doctor Kirkland," he fidgeted with his bag before he grabbed it up, threw open the door and made his mad, wet dash to shelter.

It wasn't until Arthur parked his car in front of his own apartment that a flash of color on the passenger seat caught his attention.

There lay a single, thorn-less red rose with a small card bearing a single word in very sloppy handwriting. "Doc." It was encircled by a heart as though he could not interpret the meaning.

His heart clenched, knowing Alfred was aware of the symbolism._ Love at first sight._

"I love you, too. And, that's the problem."


	19. April 19th, 2014

April 19th, 2014 - Two Left Feet

**AUTHOR:** Anonymous

**April 19th, 2014 - Two Left Feet**

"Come on," Alfred whined. "I'm not that bad."

For once, Matthew wasn't putting up with it. "You broke Aunt Martha's toes," he reminded his twin, glancing up and down the street as he looked for the dance studio. "And it's my big day. I don't want to worry every time you get on the dance floor."

"What if I promised not to dance with Aunt Martha?"

Matthew rolled his eyes and pulled the car to a stop. "Not good enough, Al. Now get out. I'll be back in an hour."

Since his options were either one hour of dance lessons or three hours of his twin's ranting, Alfred got out of the car. Watching Matthew pull away, he wondered when his diffident twin had developed such an assertive streak. It probably came from dealing with his fiancée's older brother. Alfred sighed and stepped into the studio.

The first surprise of his dance lesson came when the studio's receptionist told him that his instructor's name was Arthur.

Alfred followed the receptionist up the stairs to the dance studio and got his second surprise of the dance lesson. Arthur was gorgeous. He had a lean and lithe physique, and he looked like he was ready for a dance scene in a film from the Silver Age of Movies, with his gleaming wingtip shoes, well-fitting black trousers, and a vest covering a button-down shirt. His vibrant eyes and tousled hair added contrast to the sharp clothes, but Alfred liked those too.

"This won't be a problem will it?" the receptionist asked Alfred in a worried tone, misreading the look of surprise on his face. "Your brother said you'd be fine with a male instructor."

"Right!" Alfred hurried to reassure her, already smitten with the handsome dance instructor. He stepped forward and shook Arthur's hand. "I'm Alfred. Nice to meetcha."

Arthur nodded. "Likewise. Now, if you could just take off your shoes before we begin. Wouldn't want any injuries."

"Oh, did Matt tell you about that?" Alfred joked as he left his sneakers near the edge of the wall. He looked up to find a worried look on Arthur's face.

"Tell me about what?"

"Uh… let's just say there's a reason he was so insistent."

"I see." To his credit, Arthur recovered quickly, though he continued to give Alfred a wary look. "Well, this shouldn't be too difficult. I'm planning to teach you the one dance you need to know for a wedding: the box waltz."

Alfred eagerly watched (though he wasn't particularly interested in the dance moves) as Arthur demonstrated the basic steps, moving fluidly while he explained how the left-right-left-right-left-right pattern worked. It was just like stepping in the four corners of a box, hence the waltz's name. "Do you think you can do that?" Arthur asked.

Alfred nodded and duplicated the steps. "This isn't so bad!"

"Well, the trick is doing the steps together," Arthur said, taking a few steps closer until they were a few handbreadths apart. "The waltz uses the closed position."

"Okay," Alfred replied, finding it a little difficult to concentrate as Arthur began lifting and shifting his arms, maneuvering them into position. When Arthur finished, Alfred's right hand rested between Arthur's shoulder blades and Arthur's arm lay lightly on top of his. They clasped hands on the other side and Alfred hoped that his palm wasn't sweaty.

"Do you feel the connection? We should have a nice, solid frame."

"Yep!" Alfred agreed. He definitely felt a connection.

"Good. Now follow my count, and remember to start with your left foot forward."

And just like that, they were dancing, moving in a simple box pattern to the count of one-two-three, one-two-three. Arthur made it feel easy as he matched his steps perfectly to Alfred's. He offered a few corrections for improving Alfred's posture, but Alfred thought that the dance felt perfect as it was. Eventually Arthur turned on some music so they could practice dancing to actual songs. It took Alfred a while to find the beat, but he soon managed. Although he had never seen the appeal of ballroom style dancing before, Alfred was willing to admit that it was a lot better than he had expected.

Arthur showed him how to rotate the basic waltz steps and also how to lead his partner in a turn. "It's not much, but it should add a bit of variety," he explained. "I'm afraid the box waltz can grow a little boring after a few minutes of the same steps."

"I don't think it's boring at all!" Alfred protested. Of course, he admitted to himself, that was probably because he had a cute guy in his arms.

The compliment actually made Arthur chuckle. "You should reserve judgment until you've seen the other waltzes. They all lend themselves to more flourishes…" Arthur's eyes sparkled as he described the merits of different dances. Alfred was happy to listen for the rest of the dancing lesson, and by the end he felt like he was ready to attend the wedding without making Matthew worry.

Alfred sincerely thanked Arthur at the end of the hour and whistled cheerfully as he waited for Matthew's car to return. His twin seemed surprised by his good mood.

"How did it go?" Mattie asked as they drove away.

"It was fantastic. I've already signed up for another lesson!"


	20. April 20th, 2014

April 20th, 2014 - Holidays Through the Year

**AUTHOR:** kelsey-loves-tea

**April 20th, 2014 - Holidays Through the Year**

_Easter._

Arthur dreaded every holiday. Every year no matter the occasion his family would scream, argue and throw things. No one ever got along and since he came out, his family hasn't treated him the same. His brother's glares were harsher and his mother's words less sweet. His father barely looked at him- though that wasn't much of a change. His father always seemed to be disappointed in him no matter how hard he tried to pleased him. He couldn't help the fact his mother would cringe every time Alfred was mentioned, nor could he help the way his father would glare his his beloved when in the room.

Arthur could stomach it, he supposed. He could stomach the nasty comments and horrible jokes through the family dinner. He could listen to his grandmother tell him she'd find him a pretty girl, while his grandfather laughed. He could eat while his family prayed for him to forget Alfred during the meal. He could clear his plate, while they told him to fall into the mold they wanted. He could stomach it because at the end of the night, he knew he'd have Alfred. Alfred would be there to text and call, to sneak out with and to cuddle.

_Halloween._

Arthur was kicked out a week before Alfred planned to take them on a hayride. Arthur refused to break up with Alfred, and his parents refused to keep him. His clothing thrown along with his belongs on the grass and he collected them all. The first place he went of course was Alfred's, which caused the American's parents to fight. Alfred had kept the Brit locked in his room as he argued with his parents to let Arthur stay. Alfred convinced them after declaring if Arthur would sleep outside, so would he. After that, Arthur was allowed to stay in the guest room permanently. Alfred never took him to that hay ride that year, and Arthur never went home.

_Christmas._

It was funny how quickly things changed, Arthur mused, as he sat in the stuffy dining room Alfred's parents barely used. This time last year Arthur had been at his Grandmother's listening to his drunk father laughing at him, and now not so much. There were no nasty jokes, or hurtful slanders towards him; only too sugary drinks and warm cookies. Soft hugs, not fists against his skin, soft smiles and not harsh screams. Arthur felt uncomfortable at first, worried he'd ruin this nice home Alfred's family had so kindly let him into. He was different and broken unlike their wonderful son who tried to fix him. It took him nearly half the night to feel like he was even suppose to be there. But when Alfred pulled out holly, pretending it was mistletoe and kissed him Arthur had felt at home. The family had giggled and teased him playfully, with love. They had accepted him, not yelling he was disgusting… With Alfred's family it was easier, it was more carefree and Arthur felt like he finally belonged.

_July 4th._

July 4th originally held no meaning to Arthur, it was just a loud day in which Americans went crazy. Arthur disliking the loud displays and stupid picnics would be sour nearly every year around that time. Adjusting to America had been hard on Arthur, and now trying to do so living in the Jones' house was even harder, though he was much more happier. He smiled a little more often, and laughed almost as much as Alfred (just not as loud). However, getting away from this digression, the meaning for this day did change for Arthur. July 4th slowly by the years changed from the date of Alfred's birthday to the date they started dating . It wasn't a stupid American holiday, to Arthur it was now so much more. Of course the Jones' would still have a huge party, but Alfred would always have them slip away to watch the fireworks, or stars.

And this year as they looked up at the stars, Arthur couldn't help but think this was all that mattered. He was young, in love and happy, something not everyone got to be. He didn't need his parents baring and pushing their beliefs down his throat, he didn't need his family's false love. They had left him, kicked him out and didn't bother looking for him. Months ago, he would have wished for them to take him back but now he wouldn't give them the time of day. The Alfred's parents had done so much for Arthur, the Brit knew he could never thank them enough. But, by now he was really just a part of the family, treated as if he was a third son and not Alfred's boyfriend who was forced to move in.

By losing his family, it gave Arthur the chance to find another. It gave Arthur a chance to really live and be happy, and it let him keep the best thing he could ever have; Alfred. And, feeling Alfred's strong hand in his Arthur knew Alfred would never let go. The American won't let go now, and won't let go ever. Through all their years together, Arthur was never proved wrong. No matter what changed, the one thing that lasted was their love for each other even as the holidays and years changed.


	21. April 21st, 2014

April 21st, 2014

**AUTHOR:** justa-fangirl

**April 21st, 2014**

It had taken precisely twelve days of working as a midwife in the East End for Rose Kirkland to grow bitter towards mankind. And it was mankind, specifically, that took the brunt of her newly born antipathy. It seemed that every day she'd meet another pregnant woman who had been left by some despicable scoundrel who'd promised the world for a night or two together, only to run away when reality tried to catch up with them.

Growing up in war-ravaged London, Rose had always known that other human beings could be your enemies. But it was the Germans, the Japanese, the Italians – not English people, but 'the other,' who could be bad.

And yet here she was now, a short ten years later, in a poor working-class district of London, and it was her own countrymen who were the enemy. In less than two weeks on the job, Rose had learnt not to be surprised when a man betrayed you, hurt you, or abandoned you. Men were now 'the other.'

It had been easy to hate the Axis Powers because it was a war, so impersonal. But when it was your own kind doing such terrible things to each other, it hurt so much more. It felt like a betrayal.

And now Rose was a lot colder than she had been when she arrived in the East End to begin her new job as a midwife.

A few months into the work, and Rose had grown naturally distrustful of any man she encountered, even ones who seemed willing to stick around and help. As far as she was concerned, they were the exception to the rule, and their bad nature might catch up with them one day.

So when she was called to visit an American immigrant at her tiny flat by the docks, Rose turned her nose up at the young man who answered the door, and strode swiftly into the bedroom to find her patient.

"Miss Jones?" she inquired, smiling warmly at the young woman lying in the shabby bed. "It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Nurse Kirkland."

"Please, call me Amelia," the lady replied, struggling to push herself up on her elbows. Rose hurried to help, propping her up against the pillows and making sure she was comfortable.

"Then you must call me Rose," the midwife offered politely. "I'll be here to help you through everything, so I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other."

A sound by the door made Rose look up, and she frowned as the man from the front door strode inside and stood beside them. At first, Rose had assumed they were husband and wife, but as she saw them next to each other there was so much family resemblance she realised they must be related. Both had lovely golden hair and bright blue eyes (the man's framed by a pair of glasses), with round, friendly faces and a few faint freckles.

"This is my brother, Alfred," Amelia confirmed, gesturing towards the young man. "We moved over here from America to be with family after the war and, well, long story short…I'm afraid I did something stupid."

Amelia's face crumpled, and she looked down at the bump under the covers where her stomach was protruding.

"You must think I'm a terrible person," she murmured, sounding heartbroken and ashamed.

"Not at all," Rose said firmly, placing a hand on Amelia's shoulder. "Believe me, you're not the first to be in this situation and you certainly won't be the last. I don't judge you for a second my dear." She shot a venomous glare towards Alfred, surprising him so much that he actually took a step back. "It's the man who did something stupid, not you. It's his fault for running away like a blasted coward."

"Hey! Don't look at me like that!" Alfred defended himself against the midwife's scowl. "We're not all like him!"

"Are you not?" Rose scoffed. "I may see some happy husbands in my line of work, but the number of…of traitors makes me think that 'good' might not be the default for your sex."

"Well, this is a rough area!" Alfred exclaimed, horrified that Rose could think so poorly of him and his fellow men just from a few bad examples. "Maybe some guys don't want the responsibility because they can't afford it! And – "

"So the woman should be left to struggle alone?" Rose retorted, scandalised. "Your sister deserved this because the poor man couldn't even try to help?"

Alfred glanced at Amelia, watching him silently from the bed. He hung his head in shame, realising he'd actually been trying to defend the type of man who had left his own dear sister in this predicament. "…I'm sorry, Amelia."

His sister chuckled. "It's all right, Alfred. Men are all bastards, so you can't really help it, but you're not that bad compared to most," she joked. She looked up at Rose, standing with her arms folded beside the pillow, still fuming. "And you should go easy on my brother, Nurse Rose. He's not that bad, really."

It was the midwife's turn to hang her head sheepishly, embarrassed by her outburst. She knew she had been very cruel and completely out of line to accuse Alfred like that. She'd become so cynical since moving her, she had started to completely ignore the men like Alfred, who really did want to help. She glanced up at the American, blushing in shame.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Jones. That was very wrong of me. I promise I'm not really so ghastly about men all of the time, but when I see women in this situation…it's rather difficult to see the good in people."

Alfred's posture sagged in relief, and he smiled brightly, all injury forgotten. "That's okay, Nurse Kirkland! I totally understand. I kind of hate men, too, when I look at my sister at the moment."

"Hey, now!" Amelia laughed. "I haven't been hurt or left for dead. I'll get through this! I'll be absolutely fine – and what's more, so will baby."

"You will, indeed," the midwife smiled, patting Amelia encouragingly on the shoulder. "I'll make sure of it."

Rose left an hour later, promising to return again at the same time next week and urging Amelia to ring if she had any questions or problems at all, no matter how trivial they may seem. Midwifery wasn't just a job to Rose, it was her calling, and making sure Amelia had everything she needed was the only thing that mattered. Rose may have turned against men somewhat, but she was still kind and caring, and as selfless as she had been when she was four years old, the day she decided she wanted to become a nurse and help people who were in trouble.

As Rose left the dreary block of flats, strapping her bag onto the back of her bicycle, a shout from the doorway made her turn around.

"Nurse Kirkland!"

It was Alfred, smiling sheepishly, with a tinge of red on his cheeks. He joined her beside her bike, scuffing his foot nervously on the cobbles.

"Can I help you, Mr. Jones?"

"I…was wondering…Would it be all right…I mean, would you mind if…well…"

"Go ahead, Mr Jones," Rose urged, misunderstanding Alfred's stammering for nerves about asking questions about pregnancy. "Anything you want to ask about your sister's health is quite all right. It's good that you're so invested in helping. I know it can seem like an uncomfortable subject for a man but – "

"Um, no, that's not it," Alfred interrupted, his blush deepening. "I was just…wanting to ask if you'd like to, maybe, go out sometime? To dinner, or maybe the movies? Or whatever you English people do for fun?"

Rose stared, so many emotions flipping through her chest it felt something akin to a flipbook.

Alfred smiled at her stunned expression, encouraged by the fact that at least she hadn't yelled at him.

"It's not fair you see so many bad men. You deserve the very best and…well, I may not be it but…I'd love to try for you."


	22. April 22nd, 2014

April 22nd, 2014 - This is our Song, Arthur

**AUTHOR: **crystallia

**April 22nd, 2014 - This is our Song, Arthur**

_Setting/Description: The story takes place after the end of WW2. Human AU._

The bed was unmade. It seemed like time had stopped marching on from the moment they were forced to part. Spare, unused bandages remained untouched on the night table. The memory of a special someone who pledged he wouldn't ever let go, kept the inward wound open. No tourniquet would suffice to cease the bleeding. Because Arthur once held onto this oath. It kept him going and it kept him brave.

The Briton told himself that he wouldn't cry, but he did. He was supposed to keep his composure, but he yelled and cursed. He thought that he wouldn't look back in remorse, but he realised he should have kissed Alfred that night at the camp. For one, he should have let go of the fear of consequences. Because it was his very last chance.

The carved ring continued to adorn his pale hand. No matter how many times he considered taking it off and putting it away -especially now that Alfred wasn't with him- he always ended up rejecting the idea with a pang of unspoken sorrow in his chest. He just couldn't do it. If he did, it would feel like turning his back on a past that he refused to let go. And Arthur couldn't cut off the memories from the uninterrupted thread of his life.

How could he close that door and move on? Was it possible to leave Alfred, his beloved, in the inanimateness of oblivion? No, Arthur wanted his partner here, with him. Alive. The ring that the young American had given him, signified a deep promise— the kind that allowed the receiver of the gift to envision a hopeful future and a promising life. I'll always be with you, even if others won't want us to. Arthur really felt happy when he first heard these words because he didn't want to be apart from his American.

The opinion of other people wouldn't deter him from sharing a life of peace with Alfred. Not even time and distance seemed able to shake Arthur's interest and love for the fellow soldier who stood loyally by him and fought the common enemy with unwavering determination.

But then, his logic whispered that the end was already here. Alfred Jones had fallen and wouldn't ever come back to him. Yet, the Briton wanted to battle the dreadful thought with unyielding decisiveness; if you love someone, you never really let them go, right?

He knew that his family and friends would gossip about his persistence to keep wearing the ring. But none of them could ever understand how Arthur felt about his former comrade. This man was -and always would be- an inseparable part of Arthur's life; even in solitude, or during those times when his beloved Alfred would miss to visit him in the dreams of sleep.

The room where they spent their last, shared hours of fleeting peace, hadn't changed since they left to join the rest of the Allied troops. Arthur could still remember the halcyon moonlight that once cast its glow on their faces, lips and bodies, as it entered through the window of the dimly lit room, keeping quiet company to the two lovers.

Even in the sharp silence of the present, Arthur recalled the sound of his partner's brisk steps, the soft warmth of his whispering, the enthusiastic tone in his statements and his chuckle when the Briton admonished him or made a quick (but truthful) compliment. Even though they had different personalities and some of their views weren't in complete accord, Arthur felt that the American was the one who listened most energetically to him and cared about what he had to say.

It was the night when Arthur consciously showed to the fellow soldier that he had chosen him as his significant other. And Alfred revealed that he was interested for a long time and couldn't contain his cheery smiles when he became absolutely sure that the Englishman loved him.

"I want to be with you", Arthur told him after a kiss, while Alfred was keeping the slightly thinner man in his arms. The Brit must have lost the count of kisses they shared because his outgoing partner seemed to want to kiss him at all times— sometimes softly and carefully, and sometimes hard and passionately. It was a night that Arthur knew he wouldn't ever forget. His lover made him feel so alive.

"Really? Great. Because you already know I would go anywhere with you, Artie."

"But, you aren't here…" The Englishman murmured to himself, frowning. "And I don't know how to reach you…how to be with you again."

Their story started when US military units came to assist the British army against the Axis. Alfred was the one who approached him first and weeks later, he said that he found in him what he had been looking for. Perhaps, it was Arthur's turn to look for him now. He would need to surpass a certain limit. One last boundary that formed the line between life and death.

He stood up slowly and approached the drawer where he had stored some of Alfred's personal belongings. He searched for a specific item and picked it up. The metallic surface of the dagger shone under the weak light of a cloudy sky. It could be done like this…with the use of Alfred's weapon. Arthur ran his fingers across the cold steel of the blade and felt like he had never missed his lover's warmth so much before.

If they could no longer achieve happiness together, was there any point for only one to go on? Nobody could answer that for him. He gazed at his ring and allowed Alfred's pledge to echo into his mind, "I'll always be with you, even if others won't want us to."

An intense gleam of longing flashed in his eyes, "Right…this is why I can't turn my back on you, Alfred. If I am to choose between this world and you…it has to be you." He whispered quietly and steadily, shifting the point of the dagger so that its sharp edge could face his heart. He closed his eyes, waiting for his body's instinctive stress to numb. A future without the promise of Alfred's presence had nothing to offer.

A precise blow would ensure a quick end and nobody would really miss him…

The room was awfully silent and the tiny sound that pierced its dense quiet, seemed insignificant at first. It took Arthur a couple of seconds to acknowledge the mysterious, faint distraction. He opened his eyes with some reluctance. He blinked in disbelief, thinking that he must have imagined the sound which later became identifiable. He lowered the dagger slowly, keeping it at his side with the point facing the floor. His grip loosened, as if something had influenced his hand.

He recognised the melody coming from the music box, Arthur's gift for his late beloved. He remembered Alfred humming it or singing the lyrics quietly.

We'll meet again / Don't know where, don't know when / But I know we'll meet again / Some sunny day…

"This is our song, Arthur." The young American told him while they were getting ready to join their respective battalions. He sounded too cheerful, trying to impart reassurance and confidence to his lover and fellow soldier. "Even though we won't be in the same unit, in the end we will meet again, no matter the circumstances. I'm sure of it!"

Arthur recalled that he had smiled and nodded. He was much more restrained in his reactions, but definitively wanted the same thing as Alfred; to survive the war and enjoy their relationship in peace. He was ready to wish him good luck and advise him to be careful, but as the American leaned closer and Arthur realised what he wanted to do, the more cautious of the two said instead, "Al, not in front of the people."

"Aw, man…" He sighed and straightened up. "So what if they see us kissing?" He inquired vividly and then added, "I want people to know we love each other."

"That would be very reckless." Arthur explained. He kept a firm tone but his expression emitted fondness as he gazed back at Alfred. "And I could lose you if we are both not careful."

"You will never lose me." The young man asserted seriously and then his blue eyes softened as he looked at Arthur's gloved hands and continued, "Are you still wearing the ring I gave you?"

"I do."

Alfred smiled. "Each time you look at it, remember that nothing can get between us; people will always talk, world conflicts never seem to cease and death looms over every soldier's life. None of these can ever stop me from loving you and being yours. And I want you to remember that. You're remarkably resilient. I can see that in you. So, don't give up, alright? There is nothing that can break our bond."

It was their last talk, the last time Arthur saw that playful glint of confidence in his lover's eyes.

"Is that what you would like me to do…?" He muttered quietly. He looked at the music box and seemed to immerse himself into an intent musing. "Not to give up and wait for the day when we will meet again?"

Holding a weapon in his hand didn't feel so right anymore. Alfred always appreciated life more than giving up on it. He was the kind of man who knew how to live and how to welcome the possibility of his demise in battle.

Arthur placed Alfred's dagger on the nearby table. He listened to the melody which had begun in an unexpectedly soothing manner and ended smoothly.

"I trust you." He uttered, shaking his head lightly and a small smile softened the shadows of thoughtfulness on his face. "And until we meet on that sunny day, I will still be yours and love you."

_Note: The lyrics that are mentioned, are from the song We'll meet again (1939), performed by English singer Vera Lynn._


	23. April 23rd, 2014

April 23rd, 2014

**AUTHOR: **hoshiko2

**April 23rd, 2014**

England didn't ask for much in life, and he certainly never asked for a birthday celebration. Of course, he didn't remember when his official birthdate was, although France liked to tease him that he knew and that England was always wrong when he guessed. Instead, England decided he'd settle for never having one unlike some nations that loved to boast about theirs. This year, though, England found himself being woken by the one nation he thought he'd never see so early in the morning.

"Hey there, sweetheart."

Hearing these words soothed England, and he settled into his pillow, the covers coming up to his nose, and smiled fondly. The feeling of fingers carding through his hair and caressing down his cheeks had stirred him, and when he opened his eyes he was surprised to see the man that had teased him in his dreams from the night before was still there in the morning. America chuckled with warm, blue eyes and a tender smile as he lay on his side, watching England.

"You're still here…," England murmured.

"Of course." America leaned in a pecked England on the forehead with a chaste kiss. "Where else would I be than on your birthday?"

"My…my birthday?" England lowered the covers and frowned slightly in confusion. "What do you mean? I don't know when my birthday is."

"Why can't it be today? I mean, we have un-birthdays, right?" England opened his mouth to reply, but America continued to talk. "And you can't always have an un-birthday! So, I'm picking this one."

"Why St. George's Day?" England asked quickly, afraid he'd miss his chance to speak with how fast America prattled on.

"Hm? Well. Your people seem to love it."

"America, loving a specific day doesn't constitute a nation's birthday. If that were true, then a lot of nations would share Christmas or Good Friday or Hanukkah."

"Well…is St. George's Day a religious holiday?" America began to pout, deterred by England's objection to the birthday idea. "I mean…I don't see people going to church more than Sundays or Easter or Good Friday or something, you know?"

England gave a sigh and then sat up. He felt America grab for his arm, but he brushed it aside. Then, he turned to regard America who stared up at him with wide, sad eyes. He looked upset that England had sat up rather than staying on his back beside him. "Dear, St George's Day is a religious holiday. It's just not celebrated in many places unless they know of Saint George."

"Oh." America pouted again and then hummed in thought. "Well… It just has to be today."

"Why? Why is today so important?"

America's face blossomed into a red blush that crept up his ears and slid down his neck. His eyes scampered away from England's gaze, and he toyed with the edge of the covers. A sly, but nervous smile formed across his lips. "W-well… Because then I can…"

But he trailed off, and England didn't hear the rest of what he wanted to say. "What was that?" Again, America mumbled until his head hung low and England couldn't even see his face anymore. "Come again?"

"I said…because then I can give you your present…"

England sat back as if he had been shocked. His eyes were wide, and all he could do was watch as America got up out of bed and trotted over to his suitcase that was on the floor, having been tossed aside and flung open as soon as America got in the room. He rummaged around in it briefly before he found the small box. Then, he returned to the bed, only now he was sitting up like England. Slowly, he offered it out to England.

The English nation looked at the present as if expecting it to explode or do a trick. It was a small gift wrapped up in blue wrapping paper with a red and white bow proudly sitting on the top. A tiny nametag was tapped near the bow that simply said, "Mr. Grump". England scoffed at the name.

"Who is 'Mr. Grump'? Somebody else that you give gifts to?"

America laughed loudly once, and then grinned at England. "Yeah, he's some other Englishman that I flirt with, make love to, and eat his crappy food."

England blushed, but pretended to be angered by America's words. "How dare you? And here I work my arse off to make the best food in the world for you."

America snorted, and then shoved the present into England's hands. "Just open it, Mr. Grump."

With a huff, England did just that. The box under the wrapping paper was plain with a removable lid. England picked it up and looked inside. He gasped, nearly dropping the box, but instead pulled out a fragile matching tea cup and plate. The design on the tea cup was rather plain, but it had a gold rim, and on the inside was a small spades symbol. At the bottom was the Union Flag in both gold and silver. The plate had a gold rim as well, and had a large spades symbol in gold in the center.

"Look familiar?" America asked. "Look on the bottom of the cup and plate."

England did just that. Then, he slapped one hand over his mouth as tears sprung to the corners of his eyes. "Oh my… America…"

America shifted over to sit beside England. He draped one arm around England's shoulder and kissed his temple. "I've taken good care of them. Have ever since you gave them to me…"

"All this time…?"

America only nodded with a tender smile and then pulled England into a tight embrace. England cried softly into his shoulder, clutching the tea cup and plate to his chest.

On the underside of the plate and cup that looked as new as the day England gave it to America it said, _Made in Britannia, 1771._


	24. April 24th, 2014

April 24th, 2014 - Wrought

**AUTHOR:** americarunsoneyebrows

**April 24th, 2014 - Wrought**

After a week's worth of rain, the sun was a flavorless delicacy on Francis' skin. It had barely breached the horizon when they set out, his King restless and excited, the fine weather making him doubly eager. Arthur looked out of place in his thin and short-sleeved tunic, devoid of the usual splendor he used to hide his small frame. Francis soon came to envy him his attire; his own shining silk was wrinkled and damp with sweat by the time they reached the blacksmith's near-cloistered home.

The blacksmith was waiting, sprawled beneath the shade of a tree, asleep in the dappled light. Francis regarded him with amusement as Arthur dismounted and strode toward him, readying his foot for a kick.

"Alfred!"

The door to the house was open, and in it sat a replica of the (now awake) man at their feet, minus one leg. He slid down carefully from his high stool and balanced himself on wooden crutches before hurrying toward the three men.

"M'so sorry, m'so sorry, your majesty, sir." He muttered, eyes down, as he moved with impressive speed toward his twin and delivered a kick of his own.

Francis, still on horseback, offered his applause. Arthur's royal brow had disappeared into his hairline. The blacksmith glared at his brother before striding toward the house.

"Your sword's right here." He began to reach toward the left of the door, but stopped short and pulled back to gaze distrustfully toward Arthur. "You've got the gold, right?"

The twin made a strangled noise, and Francis, finally dismounting, nearly fell to the ground. Arthur's face was blank as he replied.

"You'll have your gold when I see the merit of your steel. And it's a pleasure to meet you, at last." He added sarcastically, turning toward the paling young man who was now teetering on his crutches. "And you are?"

"Matthew, your majesty, sir, and it is my—_our_—honor to make your acquaintance, and Alfred is _so, so_—_"_

"Not sorry. Gods, Matthew, he's a King, not a...well. Not a God." Alfred had a wicked grin, Francis thought, and it made him uneasy. The way he held a massive wooden box in one careless hand increased that feeling tenfold. But Arthur was as collected as ever as he removed his gloves and nodded toward the box.

"If you would be so kind as to open it, please." He stated coolly, and Alfred bowed slightly as he obeyed, pulling the lid up to reveal, Gods be kind, the most beautiful weapon Francis had ever seen.

He held his breath as Arthur reached forward to lift it, his slender fingers resting a moment on the ruby in its pommel before he gripped the hilt firmly and pulled it away with ease.

The twins wisely stepped away before Arthur began to test the blade. He held it aloft in one hand, then two, swinging it gracefully before him, behind him, whirling it in a smooth and perfect circle, his skilled wrists rolling and guiding the weapon like a deadly baton.

Satisfied with the weight, he pulled a piece of silk from his pocket before casting his eyes toward Alfred. Seeing the man's steadfast and confident gaze, he let the silk drop onto the edge of the blade. It fell away in two pieces, and Francis' breath left him.

Arthur's smile was giddy. He seated the blade in the box again. "You've lived up to the promise you made, lad. The fifteen thousand is yours."

Matthew had moved to his brother's side. He gripped his arm with tremulous excitement. The blacksmith bowed, lower this time, his hand coming to grip his brother's as he rose.

"Thank you. We've ale, fresh from the brewery. It would honor us to have the King join us for a drink." He was more relaxed now, and Francis wondered if his earlier rudeness had merely been a mask for his nerves. He was an awfully young man after all, even younger than his King.

Never one to turn down drink, Arthur accepted, and they were seated in the clean and bright space of the blacksmith's humble home. The ale was good, and the conversation came easy. Francis had found a lovely little kitten to entertain himself, and the King had found a wolf to tease.

"Now, I'm sure you won't mind me saying, the old King was _much_ better than the boy we have in there now." Alfred mocked, his toughened fingers tracing the rim of a metal mug of beer. "Heard that guy's elf-blood. Trickster." The rudeness had not been the result of nerves after all. He was just a naturally boastful sort.

Luckily, Arthur rejected challenges even less often than he rejected alcohol. "I'd not speak of elf-blood, love. Your eyes and ears betray you." He gestured toward the slightly pointed tips of the blacksmith's reddened ears. "No wonder you're drawn to flame, fairy."

Matthew tugged self-consciously on his own ears, and the table grew quiet.

"Remnants of a man we'd rather not recall." Alfred answered at last. "The old king's _beloved_ knight, no less, if you must know, and it's better that you do." He leaned back as he spoke, bringing one arm behind his brother. "You share your ale with the bastard sons of the exiled fae knight!" he exclaimed with mock pride.

Arthur was tickled by that, and Francis too. They laughed, clapping each other about the shoulders. "Why, you ought to have said so before." Arthur exclaimed. "The bastard King is pleased to meet you." His green eyes danced with mirth as he absorbed two perfectly matched shocked expressions. "The talk of the court doesn't reach the tables of inns, I suppose. It was once considered a well-guarded secret, as well." Arthur shrugged and stood.

"I'd love to relish the company longer, I assure you, but we must depart before sunset. Francis, his gold?"

Francis produced the bags. He laid them on the table, searching the identical faces, but the men remained quiet, their eyes on the wealth before them.

"Be wary of thieves," Arthur advised "and look for a squire in two days time. I'll have another assignment." He exited, Francis following behind.

Francis looked back, expecting farewell or thanks, but found the men as before, their eyes on the gold and their hands clasped tightly together. He turned away again.

The ride back was as merry as the first. Arthur hummed the disjointed, atypical rhythms of his ancestors, and Francis waited for what he knew was coming. He did not have to wait long.

"My court's awfully drab, isn't it, Francis? And highborn. And legitimate. And brunette, Gods!"

"He is wonderfully blond, sir. And he comes with a replacement, should anything happen to the first." Francis replied. But he smiled. The journey back would be an annoyance, the trial of convincing the blacksmith atrocious, the sure-to-be disastrous courting his awkward King would supply, a huge headache.

Ah, but Francis loved love.


	25. April 25th, 2014

April 25th, 2014 - Little Things

**AUTHOR: thelillylilac**

**April 25th, 2014 - Little Things**

It was a rainy day in late April. Both Alfred and Arthur were sitting in the living room. Arthur was curled up with a book. Meanwhile, Alfred was fiddling with a ring on his finger. It was only a simple gold band, but it was good enough for him.

Several years ago, Arthur had informed him that their two rings were found back when Arthur was a privateer. It was an interesting little adventure, a story, thrown into the back of Alfred's memory. Always there, but rarely thought of.

Another thing the two shared, their dog tags. Both had the other's tags around their neck when they weren't fighting. Alfred claimed that you'd never notice that the tags weren't their own unless you read them.

A bed was shared too. And a house in each of their countries. And a language. The three words Alfred loved most in their language: I love you. Whether said by him or Arthur, it didn't matter. Miniscule things such as this, they never stood out unless you really thought about them.

Alfred was never one for details. That is, until he fell in love with Arthur. The little details he had memorized. How Arthur signed his name, the way his mouth moved when he talked, his laugh, how the two of their hands fit together. However, he could never put much of this into words.

Arthur had managed it. Not necessarily speaking, and never all at once. They came in bits and pieces, daily compliments. Small things that he noticed about Alfred that only came with long and very close relationships.

But for now, the glint off of their rings worked. As did their dog tags. And the messy bed with the sun shining on it. The quiet details hidden in plain sight always said the most, after all. And that was all either of them could ever want.


	26. April 26th, 2014

April 26th, 2014 - Sleepless Night

**ARTIST: **c-i-mela

**AUTHOR: **seecarrun

**April 26th, 2014 - Sleepless Night**

It was no use.

England sat up, finally surrendering his attempts at sleep. Despite trying to force it upon himself for a better part of the night, it was time to be honest with himself and admit defeat.

Slipping out from under the covers and throwing on his old, faded green robe and slippers, he yawned and rubbed the nonexistent sleep from his eyes. Deciding a cup of tea very well might do the trick (and knowing full well that it wouldn't, but he had nothing else to do, so why not?), he walked gently down the old, creaky staircase, being extra careful not to disturb the lump snoring softly on his sofa.

England tried to frown, but a small, fond smile crept into his face anyway.

America.

He had almost forgotten he was staying over. No wonder he was having difficulty falling asleep. Just knowing the big idiot was in his home was putting England on edge, even subconsciously.

And of course, the lad looked criminally adorable as he slept, as always. Practically angelic.

His tea momentarily forgotten, England crept around the sofa and leaned casually against the adjacent arm chair, indulging himself in the rare moment of tranquility in the presence of the younger country.

"You really are a prat," he mused, smirking as America snorted just slightly too loudly in his sleep. "You're very lucky you're so handsome, or else you wouldn't get away with nearly as much as you do."

America snorted again, scrunching up his nose and shifting himself around in order to hug his pillow to himself, which England reluctantly took as his cue to leave him be. No need to make things awkward if he happened to wake up, after all.

With one last fond glance, England brushed America's fringe away from his forehead and kissed it softly. "Sweet dreams, darling," he whispered, blushing softly as the unfamiliar words left his lips. "I'll see you in the morning."  
**  
**Suddenly much more relaxed, he turned, quietly heading to the kitchen to make his midnight cup of tea.


	27. April 27th, 2014

April 27th, 2014

**AUTHOR:** isap8

**April 27th, 2014**

"Can I draw you?"

Arthur looked up with a raised brow, curiosity in his eyes as he met the ocean blue ones before him. He wasn't sure why the young man was asking, or _what _he was asking, really. Draw him? Whatever for? Who would ever be interested in drawing him?

Of all the people of London, though, the man was the only one who had really appealed to Alfred. The young art student had just moved to the large English city, but had quickly fallen into the same cold, and rainy lifestyle that everyone else in the country seemed to somehow thrive in. To him, however, it was absolutely dreadful. He hated the cold pitter-patter, the boring grey that he faced every morning. Grey faces, grey buildings, grey streets, grey skies, all seeming to envelop him in their gloomy existence.

Thus, the shock of gold hair and the contrasting emerald orbs of his eyes had easily managed to capture Alfred's attention as he tried to finish yet another paper for class at the local coffee shop.

"I beg your pardon?" Arthur asked, finally voicing his confusion. Alfred had expected nothing less than that smooth British accent, but the man before him was different. There was no dullness in the sound, no bored tone. While confused and ever so slightly annoyed by the American, this man held much more emotion in his voice than Alfred had heard for weeks. Then again, not many people spoke to Alfred so it wasn't like he could judge.

The younger of the two blonds held up a sketchbook, his grin a little lopsided. "I'm an art student. Just moved here and I thought you had pretty eyes so I was wondering if I could draw you." _Oh shit that didn't come out right, did it?_

Arthur almost choked on his tea but nodded slightly, trying to regain his grace as he set the teacup down. "I-I suppose you can if…if you would like."

How else was one to respond to such a thing? He couldn't very well say no to the young art student. Well, he could, but he was far too curious to do so. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to let the twenty-something year old boy draw him.

Said twenty-something year old boy was more than excited as he took a seat at the table with the Brit, setting his sketchbook down and pulling out a small box of artists charcoal before sketching lightly with them. The shape of the head, slope of the nose… Alfred's hands moved smoothly across the page, sketching quickly at first before taking the time to gently perfect the details, adjusting the way the light hit the golden strands of the British man's hair, manipulating the lights and darks in his emerald eyes to express the same warm beauty that Alfred saw in them, and fixing the expression in his thin fingers that wrapped delicately around the porcelain teacup.

Then there were those lips, lightly chapped and thin, the way they curled up just slightly in amusement as the Englishman read the newspaper before him. Alfred couldn't help it as he got lost in the little details, the need to perfect every single one. Even with all of the erasing, the smudging, the blending, and the shading, he still didn't feel that he had done the gorgeous man justice.

The boy had been sitting there for forty-five minutes, at the least. Forty-five minutes that Arthur had spent wondering how the American saw that much detail in such a plain person as himself. _Why is he so interested? Why does he care? Is he just desperate for something to draw? Maybe that's why… _There was no other real excuse for it. Arthur saw himself as just another of the many people who lived in London, wearing a crisp business suit and with a newspaper tucked under the arm just like everyone else.

But where the man saw nothing, Alfred saw everything. It was only after the hour was done and the picture was finished that he realized why. He blushed a bit as he set the open sketchbook on top of the newspaper to show the Englishman. He was terribly flustered, hoping desperately that he liked it. _Shit, I should have fixed his pinky, and his left eyebrow is smaller than his right one by a bit, shit shit shit…_ Only now that the Brit had the sketchbook before him did Alfred notice all of his little mistakes.

"Shite…" Arthur said in awe as he looked over the sketch, taking in every detail with wide eyes. Is this really how the American stranger saw him? He looked at least five years younger in the image than he did in real life. How could one person see that much beauty in another that he'd only just met? "Y-You have talent, lad."

"Thank you," Alfred said, a little too quickly as he grew slightly flustered at the compliment. He was going to make a fool of himself if he didn't leave soon; he knew that fully well as he rose quickly and almost toppled the table, not noticing as Arthur scrawled something small in the corner of the page. "Gotta go. Roommate is gonna be pissed if I take too long."

Arthur nodded and, with a hint of a blush, closed the sketchbook and returned it to the alluring young student who took it with gentle hands and tucked it under his arm. "Thanks again, dude!" he called as he stepped out.

It wasn't until he was halfway down the street that he noticed the small phone number at the bottom of the sketch.

_Please give a ring and thank you very much for the wonderful sketch. –Arthur Kirkland_


	28. April 28th, 2014

April 28th, 2014 - Define Art

**AUTHOR:** iggycat

**April 28th, 2014 - Define Art**

"Alfred, go away. I'm writing."

"Sure, if you consider staring at a computer screen for hours writing."

Arthur turned around with a glare, though it was relatively difficult to look intimidating while swiveling around in a spiny chair. He lowered his glasses down the bridge of his nose and stared, unimpressed, at his boyfriend.

"I'm thinking. That's half of the artistic process," he started, then swiveled back around. "Not that you'd know anything about art."

"I know about culinary arts," Alfred said, undeterred, as he moved a manuscript aside and sat down on Arthur's desk. He picked up a pen and placed it atop his upper lip in an attempt to balance it. Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Alfred, following the directions on the back of a box of cake mix does not make you an expert on culinary arts."

"No? What about that Cheeto-splosion I made for our Super Bowl party last year?" Alfred said with a grin, as the pen keeled over and fell to the floor. Arthur leant over and picked it up.

"Firstly, that was your Super Bowl party, and secondly, that artificial cheese disaster could not have been further from the definition of art." He poked his boyfriend on the cheek with the butt of his pen. "Now do get out, love. I've been in a rut and I really need time to think."

"Alright," Alfred acquiesced with a soft smile as he slid off the desk. "I wouldn't want to interrupt the flow of your artistic genius." He brushed a few strands of Arthur's hair behind his ear and bent down to press a kiss to his forehead. Alfred moved down his boyfriend's face, from his forehead, to the tip of his nose that precariously balanced his lover's glasses, to the man's right cheek, then left, and ultimately came to his lips where he lingered. When he lent up again, Alfred had the usual dopey grin on his face. "Though, I am gonna have to stop you soon. Dinner's in an hour."

Alfred winked, and as he took a step back, toward the door, Arthur suddenly stood and reached for his wrist.

"Alfred," he started, as the man turned around perplexed. "I was wrong. You might know a thing or two about art."

"Really?" Alfred asked, his eyebrows rising to hide amongst his golden bangs.

"Yes," Arthur replied, rolling his eyes once more as he lifted a hand to Alfred's fringe and mimicked the motion his boyfriend had taken earlier, leaning up on the tips of his toes to press a kiss to the man's forehead. When Arthur pulled away, he was wearing Alfred's smile. "You seem to know your way around the art of kissing."


	29. April 29th, 2014

April 29th, 2014 - Some Hearts

**AUTHOR:** roseflame44

**April 29th, 2014 - Some Hearts**

A song played on the radio that day, it was a soft song, a love song really. It was silly really but the song made Arthur think a lot about Alfred. He walked around the house, the tv in the living room changed to one of those music channels that always played. Alfred like listening to them since the news was rather dull and did nothing good for the soul or mind.

_'I've never been the kind that you'd call lucky, always stumbling around in circles. Well I must have stumbled into something, look at me am I really alone with you?'_

The sweet voice of a country singer rang through and Arthur stopped. The screen read Carrie Underwood and the song _'__Some Hearts'_

The song really did remind him of how he met Alfred. He had been bar hopping after a bad break up and had been trying to drown it out. Sadly he had over estimated himself and ended up slumped against a wall near an alley. It was hard to stay awake since he had wanted to sleep but he also wanted to get out of there. So with stumbling legs he had gotten up and dizzily walked down the road. Even in his state he knew which way was home.

After a block his legs stopped wanting to work and his stumbling nearly toppled him over. Splitting his head open on concrete wasn't what he had planned. Which is why he was grateful when he felt two hands gripping his arms and shoulders.

"Wow, steady there." That was about all he managed to catch before he fell unconscious in the strangers arms.

The next morning he woke up somewhere strange and he had panicked. His head pounded with a dreadful hangover and he had a bad case of cotton mouth. "W-where am I?" He slurred and held his head as he tried to glance around the room. He was alone… and fully clothed?

So wherever he was he hadn't been hurt in any way, that was good. The room looked neat but lived in so where was the person who lived there?

The door creaked open he looked over, a tall man with blonde hair and bespectacled eyes walked in with a bottle of water and pills. "Oh sorry, glad to see you're awake." The man kept his voice low as he handed Arthur the bottle and pills. "Here, I know you've got to have a splitting headache, you were trashed last night dude."

Arthur blushed, he had been caught so vulnerable by a stranger was embarrassing okay!? "Ah yes, I'm terribly sorry for troubling you."

"Not a trouble dude, I wasn't going to leave ya there." Blue eyes, that was their color, such a pretty color to to be hidden behind glasses.

After that Arthur had befriended the man, Alfred, was his name and he was a sweet chap. Arthur found he was falling in love with the man who had caught him when no one else had been there.

So it was no surprise when he woke up beside the American one day months later, this time he had no head ache but instead a warm feeling in his chest.

_'I wake up feeling like my life's worth living. Can't recall when I last felt that way. Guess it must be all this love you're giving. Never knew never knew it could be like this.'_

Now he was living with Alfred as his fiance and their wedding coming up soon. "I guess some hearts do get lucky sometimes…"

"What Darlin'?"

Arthur jumped and turned around to see Alfred behind him. He smiled and leaned up to kiss the man he loved. "Nothing Love, just remembering."

He had a feeling he was going to slip this song into their wedding somehow, it was just to good not to.

_Now who'd have thought someone like you could love me. You're the last thing my heart expected. Who'd have thought I'd ever find somebody. Someone who someone who makes me feel like this._

_Well I guess_

_Some hearts_

_They just get all the right breaks_

_Some hearts have the stars on their side, yes_

_Some hearts,_

_They just have it so easy_

_Some hearts just get lucky sometimes_


	30. April 30th, 2014

April 30th, 2014 - Unexpected

**AUTHOR: **hypocritical-romantic

**April 30th, 2014 - Unexpected **

Arthur was exhausted. His flight to Dublin from London was not even an hour, but he had awoken before the sun had even risen to catch his plane and right after a late outing with his university friends. He thanked every god out there that he didn't have a hangover. And yet, the last thing he waned to do was hop into a two hour coach bus ride that would take him to the opposite coast of Ireland.

"Bloody hell, it would have been easier for us to just fly into Galway," he grumbled to his eldest brother, Liam, who snickered in response.

"Skype would have been even easier, but just think of it as a vacation, Arts! Look at all the scenery and cows and the occasional sheep. I can't get enough of that back in Scotland." Sarcasm laced every word near the end.

What was promised as a weekend of city fun turned into tourist like adventures. Arthur remembered coming to Ireland as a boy on holiday with his parents, but according to Patrick, they hadn't seen even an eighth of "this beautiful piece of heaven."

"This lass better be worth it," the bright red haired man, was convinced his brother was biased on account that he found himself a pretty Irish lass. Thus the real reason for their excursion was for a wonder opportunity for Patrick to introduce his steady girlfriend to his brothers. "I hear we'll be gettin' quite a bit of wind." Just as he finished saying that, a strong gust of wind rocked the bus.

"Isn't this exciting!" Patrick finally turned to face them, excitement etched into his face.

x. X. x.

"No. This isn't exciting," Arthur cursed under his breath. Winds strong enough to knock a grown man onto his knees and the occasional torrential rain did not make this rendezvous at the Cliffs of Moher worth it. Arthur now cursed his lack of hangover excuse that could have prevented that day of pure misfortune. He didn't even have the adequate attire to protect him from the harsh winds and piercing sand blowing around him.

There was always the safe haven of the gift shop where he could stay warm and dry, but it was full of annoying tourists and his two brothers also lurked behind merchandise, ready to ruin his weekend even more. Instead, he'd rather brave the winds and risk getting knocked down the vast cliffs. Despite being at the very top of the viewing area and getting slapped in the face by his short hair, almost completely drenched, and occasionally lifted off of his seat, he was enjoying himself just a little. In fact, he was smirking as he watched others get tossed around when a red and gold scarf wrapped around him, momentarily blinding him before choking him.

It was still warm, probably ripped off some poor tourist moments ago, and surprisingly dry. He held onto it, expecting a tourist to run up to him to claim it, but nobody did. Upon further inspection, Arthur immediately recognized the red and gold striped pattern and the Gryffindor insignia and decided it was fate that he was freezing and the poor muffler needed a new owner. Once properly secured it around his neck, the even more disheveled blond began to make his way down the dangerous steps, pausing to catch himself every time a gust of wind threatened to toss him into the air.

About fifteen minutes later, Arthur arrived at the sanctuary away from the cold, bitting winds with muddied shoes and trousers, and even a bloody lip from a piece of rubbish that had smacked into him. Surprisingly, he didn't care. There was a warm scarf around his neck that smelled of a deep, rich cologne.

He was sniffing the scarf, committing the intoxicating smell to memory when a tall, cyan eyed, blond stopped right in front of him, grinning.

"Hey!" Arthur knew that accent to be American right away. "You found my scarf! I thought I was never gonna see it ever again!"

"How do you know it's yours?" Arthur immediately berated himself for giving it away that it wasn't his. He didn't know why he was being so defensive, but after fighting against that horrendous wind, he figured that scarf was his reward.

Instead of being offended, the handsome American let loose an enticing and robust laugh. He picked up the end of the scarf with the insignia and pointed at a stain. "See this here? It's a battle scar from when it protected me from hot coffee," he brought it up to his nose, thus bringing Arthur closer as well. "It also smells like me. Do you want proof?"

He winked and pulled down on his shirt collar, revealing his neck.

Arthur couldn't believe what was happening. The Adonis incarnate was inviting him to sniff him, which could possibly turn into something more. It was like he was begging for him to nip at that beautiful bronzed skin.

And when he could have responded with something witty and alluring, all that came out was an unintelligible garble.

Undeterred and highly amused, Adonis smirked, "I's'alright, it looks better on you. I'll even let ya keep it if ya have coffee with me."

It was all smooth talk until he mentioned coffee and Arthur wrinkled his nose, finally breaking through the other's cocksure ego. "I prefer tea, but why not? I'm sure your grammar will improve as we go."

The American's grin returned and motioned for the Englishman to go before him. "The name's Alfred, by the way. Alfred F. Jones, at your service!"

"Mm, let's hope so," Arthur didn't know where this confidence came from, but he liked it. "I'm Arthur Kirkland, pleased to meet you."


End file.
